The Next World
by Jenthewarrior
Summary: Follow the stories of Rick, Carol, Daryl, Michonne, Negan, and others as they try to come to terms with the new world, and find their place within it. Heroes and villains emerge as groups collide and resources dwindle. Some succumb to darkness, and others find their way back from it. Future Daryl/Carol.
1. World On Fire

**A/N: Hello and welcome to my Walking Dead story. I enjoy the focus on characters in this show and I also wondered what would happen if things had been different from the very start. In this version, Rick is not shot and not in a coma when the walkers appear. Other, small things have changed. I have also decided to explore other characters who were not in the original seasons, but showed up later, like Negan. I will also include several 'highlight' chapters that focus on pivotal moments in the lives of minor characters, like Lizzie and Mika, Tyreese and Sasha, Morgan and Duane, and Phillip Blake (the Governor).**

**Of course, many of these characters will begin the story in different places, trying to find their way and protect the people they love, but they will collide eventually. I try to write characters as true to the source material as possible.**

**I hope you enjoy this story and if you like it, please leave a review. If you want to suggest future canonical changes, or request certain events happen as they did in the show/comics, or you want to suggest a 'highlight' moment that you think should be featured, then feel free to leave that in a review as well. I can't always give everyone what they want, but I want to try to give people their favorite moments as well.**

**I have rated this story T for violence and language. If you watch the Walking Dead, you should be okay to read this story.**

**Jenthewarrior.**

**XxX**

**Chapter 1.**

**World on Fire.**

"_The emergency broadcast system for the state of Georgia has been activated. This is not a test."_

It was nearing midnight and the highway was at a standstill. Rick Grimes sat with his hands on the wheel, looking down a dark line of vehicles.

"_Proceed to the nearest refugee center in a calm and organized fashion. If you are unable to leave your home, stay indoors, turn off all lights, and stay quiet."_

He was still in his police uniform, bloodstained across the waist, a pistol resting in his lap.

"_Help is on the way."_

Rick watched the road, aware of the silence, uncomfortable with the darkness. Some people had left their cars and started walking, shadows passing through the remaining headlights, and as the night wore on, one engine after another cut off. Slowly, slowly, the highway quieted, until the only sounds were whispers, people breathing, and that broadcast echoing through the cars.

He had been hoping the message would change for hours, give them more instructions. But the only thing that changed from daylight to dark was the list of counties at the end, the list of refugee centers. It got shorter and shorter with no explanation.

While the last list was winding down, Lori spoke from the back seat, "Rick… Cobb and Cherokee…?" Her voice was high, strained, and there was a look in her eyes like a wild animal looking for a way out. Her parents lived in Cherokee, and her cousins in Cobb.

Rick turned and took her hand. She had their son wrapped under her arm.

"Maybe they're full up, huh?"

She wanted to believe him. He could tell. But she didn't. She squeezed his hand and looked away, taking a halting breath, "Yeah. Maybe."

Shane returned and leaned in through Rick's window. His eyes were as dark as anything at this hour. "Nobody up there knows a damn thing – bunch of stories about UFOs and terrorist attacks. I'm gonna head back the other way, see what I can see. You wanna come?"

"You go. I think we'll hang around here."

Shane tipped his hat and disappeared again.

A few seconds dragged past, and then Lori said, "We could use a little fresh air."

Carl added, "I have to pee."

Rick was reluctant to leave the car, and that discontent only grew as they walked around to the trunk. It was still so quiet, despite how many people were around. Rick scanned the gathered faces, the cars, both sides of the road, looking for any signs of danger. He was as tense as he had ever been, sitting right on the edge of panic.

He took Carl by the hand and led him down into the woods, staying close while he did his business. He tried his phone again, just to have something to do with his hands.

"Still nothing?" Carl asked.

"Nothing," Rick responded. Even the lines at the police department had been down most of the day, forcing them to use radios to communicate that morning.

Carl took his hand, pointing, "Do you see those people?"

He saw them. It was a large group hovering on the other side of the patch of trees, illuminated by something. "I see 'em. Probably trying to see what's the hold up, just like us."

"Should we go over there? Maybe they know something. Maybe they have a phone."

Rick would usually walk confidently into a crowd of strangers, but now he hesitated. It was something in the air, something in his heart. He had witnessed brutal stuff back home – neighbors falling ill, dying, and getting up to walk again. He had seen the _walkers_, as Shane called them, bite into the neck of one of his closest friends, shredding him like a wild animal.

So, he drew his son closer, and murmured, "Not just now," as they headed back to the road.

Lori was chatting with the family from the car beside theirs. She wrapped her arms around Carl the moment he was close enough, like she was afraid he was just going to disappear into the darkness. Rick felt the same way. He hovered near them while she made the introductions.

"Rick, this is Carol, Ed, and Sophia."

Ed was a heavy man with a bulldog face, his wife was rather thin, with short grayish hair, and their daughter was all knees and elbows, appearing pale and frightened.

Rick nodded his greeting, "Pleasure."

Ed was chewing tobacco, "You got any idea what this is all about? People been talkin' 'bout some crazy shit out here."

He knew what those people might be saying. He had heard it all, thought it all, himself. And though he had had the day to come to terms with it, he still couldn't properly put it into words. "No more than you, probably. Some kind of virus, makin' people sick, makin' 'em crazy. Seen a few casualties myself."

Carol was looking down at the dry bloodstain across his waist. "Did you see…?" She reminded him of a mouse, afraid to make too much noise.

"What was that?" Rick prompted gently.

"We came by way of Alamance," she went on quietly, "Lori said you were from King County… my parents live there. Bobby and Sara Wilson. I was just wondering if you maybe knew of them, or if you knew anything…"

"We evacuated this morning," he said. "But the whole county was under order to take the highway to Atlanta, so I'm sure they're on the road somewhere."

Carol smiled in a way that showed she couldn't believe him. "Is it bad out there?"

He glanced at his son, who was focused intently on him, and then said, "I'm sure they got the warning on the radio, same as us, and locked up the house. Lots of people did."

Ed grunted, exiting the conversation without so much as a goodbye. He strolled around their car and started toying with the radio, grumbling something unintelligible.

Carol smiled apologetically. "Sorry."

"No problem. None at all."

Shane made his way back up the line of cars, shaking his head as he made it to them. "Seems like traffic goes back more than a mile." He nodded to Carol and Sophia. "Ladies."

"We can't stay here all night," Lori said, clutching Carl a little tighter.

"We have some food, if you guys are hungry," Carol offered.

Something thumped inside the car, and Carol flinched. She cleared her throat. "Sorry. I mean, we might have run out. I should check. Sophia, baby, stay here."

Carl was watching the little girl. He held out his hand. "I'm Carl."

Sophia looked doubtfully at him.

"Leave her be," Rick chided. "You're welcome to sit here with Lori and Carl as long as you want," he said to the girl, who must have been around Carl's age.

It seemed that the night went on forever. Rick and Shane tried to get their phones working, but they had as much luck as all the other people around them. Rick tried to modify the radio to pick up other local stations, but it stubbornly kept on with the broadcast. Every half hour or so, it was updated, and more counties were taken off the list.

And then, at two in the morning, the broadcast stopped.

Rick was talking to Shane in the front while the kids colored in the trunk, and Carol and Lori were talking with some people from the surrounding vehicles. Everyone became aware of the silence at once. Rick fiddled with the dial, trying to get it to come back.

He felt his heart beating in his throat.

"I don't like that," Shane commented.

"What happened? Why'd it stop?" Lori leaned into his window.

"Maybe the tower shut down, to preserve energy or something," Shane offered.

"Maybe," Rick agreed.

He rested his finger on the dial.

And then he saw movement on the road. He and Shane stepped out to watch a mother and father lead four kids down the divider, their legs illuminated by the few headlights that were still on.

Shane tried to call out to them, to warn them to get back to their vehicle, but the father only glanced back at them and kept going. Shane cursed to himself. "Not safe out there. For all he knows, he could be leading his family into more danger. _Stupid_."

Carl appeared behind Rick, putting a small hand on his back, "I'm hungry."

It was strange. It was the first time in his life that Rick could not just go get his son some food. It suddenly occurred to him that they were trapped out here, with miles of highway either way, and dark woods on the borders. In their haste to leave home they had hardly packed anything, expecting to be at some shelter by now. He had his first thought that they might have to leave their car.

Lori seemed to be thinking the same thing. She was looking at him with this sudden, frightened expression. She drew Carl back and put her arm around his chest.

"I was thinking about the albums… I'm sorry, baby, I didn't even think…"

Rick crouched down and took his son's hands, "Me and Shane are gonna go on through the woods, see if we can get any news. You all just stay put here. If I find anything to eat, I'll bring it back for you kids. Sophia still back there?"

Her head popped up over the back seat. She had been listening from the trunk.

"_Candy_," Carl specified. "If you find any vegetables, just leave them there."

"Right. Right. Of course." Rick smiled, ruffling his son's hair, and then stood to talk to Lori. "Take out a picture – your favorite one, the one you wanna keep the most – and put it in your pocket. We might have to leave all this behind."

She nodded, though that frightened look grew to terror. "Not in the middle of the night, right?"

"Might have to be. Keep him close."

Lori clutched their son. "Stay safe."

"You too. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Rick and Shane ventured into the woods together. Shane was scratching his head. He waited until they were out of earshot of the highway to speak, "Emergency broadcast cutting off in the middle like that… cars back for miles… people walking up the road… It all spells trouble."

"Yeah, I got that, too."

"You know, I seen natural disasters and stuff on the news, people evacuating. Terrorist attacks and burning buildings and all that. But this feels different. I mean, what're we supposed to do? Locked up in this mess?"

It was a short walk, not even ten minutes. Rick came out on the side of another road and found a good view down the hill – into the city. Atlanta towered in the distance.

It was a city in shadow. Where there would usually be businesses, hotels, and tall towers lit up against the night sky, there were only dark blurs, and darker blurs. Where the roads would usually be illuminated by headlights, like so many lines with bright dots marching along them, there was only blackness. If he had not known there was a city there, Rick might have missed it.

"Never seen it that dark," Shane breathed.

"Must be some kind of blackout. I bet that's why the broadcast stopped."

Shane whispered, "You been quiet all day. What do you think this is?" Others had gathered to view the city, spurred from their cars by the end of the broadcast, murmuring amongst themselves. "Seems like more than a virus. Seems like more than what we saw back home."

Rick said nothing. It might have been exactly what they saw back home, on a larger scale. It was not a terrorist attack, or a natural disaster, or anything they had seen before. It was people falling ill, people dying, and then people getting up and walking around after death. It was a sickness, making them turn on their friends and loved ones. And this place had more people than back home.

He hated the thought, so he tried again for the brighter side. "Maybe it was just a blackout. You know they got an army of police out there… first responders… fire departments."

Shane was silent, his arms crossed tightly, frowning down at the city.

"We should ask around, see what everybody knows."

Suddenly the silence was broken.

Helicopters came thrashing overhead. Rick and Shane ducked as the wind threatened to bowl them over. Rick hit his knees, and the crowd on the hilltop let out a collective gasp.

He sat there, watching, as the helicopters flew high over the city and dropped dozens of little black specs over the streets. As they hit the ground, so many seeds nestling into a massive field, they detonated. Fire rose like a great curtain, blinding them, illuminating the night. It boomed and crackled, a firework show, waves of sound and heat washing over the audience, along with the sick smell of smoke.

Rick had never seen anything like it.

_Never_.

It made him sick to his stomach, made his heart stutter and gallop. He thought of all the people down there, all the lives that had just been snuffed out. He wanted to speak but fumbled over his words and just rambled like a madman.

Atlanta was no more.

How could anyone survive that?

Shane took his hat off and held it to his chest, breathing, "Jesus…" His eyes shone in the new light, glistening with tears. Rick put his hand on him and felt him trembling.

But his mind came back, and the fog cleared. People on the hilltop were screaming and someone was tumbling downward into the grass. Atlanta burned and gave them light, gave them shadows, showed them an invasion of lurking and lunging.

And that sound, that terrible groaning sound.

"Run!" He vaulted to his feet, grabbing Shane. He screamed so loud that his voice broke. "_Run_! Back to the road!"

Everyone scattered. People tripped over branches, over leaves, over each other. Bones crunched, and blood sprayed, a sick orange paint in the firelight. Rick saw it in snippets, in cuts, running with a single-minded purpose. Shane was hot on his heels, shouting something.

A woman screamed her last, bloodcurdling scream and Rick skidded to a stop.

Shane crashed into him, shoved him – _hard_ – and yelled, "We have to go! _GO!_"

It was murder, but he kept running.

Someone tripped in front of them and Rick tumbled over him, doing a flip into a log. He was only on the ground for a moment before Shane was on him, pulling him up, shouting now in a voice that kept breaking. Rick tried to look back, to reach out for the person he had fallen over, but the woods were too dark, and Shane was still dragging him onward.

Finally, the trees broke onto the highway.

Engines were revving, headlights were blaring, and cars were slamming into one another with sickening crunches in a desperate attempt to break free of the gridlock. Smoke rose, and fires sparked to life. Someone hit the divider and flipped onto the other side, crushing a fleeing family.

Rick made it to their car.

One of those things – a _walker_ – was clawing at the glass and groaning. Rick responded viscerally to the sight, banging on the window on the other side and shouting, "Lori! _Lori_!"

He had a moment, in his own head, to whisper, _Please, please, please…_

And then she was there. The door flew open and she shoved Carl into his arms. He dragged her out after, clutching her for a split second with their son between them.

He had never felt wilder, more animal-like, than he did in that moment. He herded his family behind him and drew his gun, pointing it at the monster limping around their car. It was coming for them, coming to bite into them like that deputy at the station. It already had fresh blood on its face – already had a victim under its belt.

"Stay back!" Rick warned, shooting the attacker first in the chest, and then in the shoulder. It staggered but walked on. He shot again, at the legs, but it barely noticed his efforts. His son was screaming, clinging to his waist, and Lori had an iron grip on his shoulder.

Rick aimed for its head, his finger on the trigger, "Final warning! _Stop_!"

He fired, hitting it square in the forehead. Its skull exploded backward, and it hit the pavement with a sickening crunch, completely and utterly still. Rick was trembling from head to toe as he holstered his weapon. He could not pry Carl off of his back, so he just twisted and embraced them that way, holding on too tight, trying to hold himself together.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did he touch you? Did he touch you?"

Carl was talking, screaming, crying, and Lori tried to answer but her voice was drowned out in the chaos. She ended up shaking her head furiously.

Shane was loud enough to be heard. He appeared behind them, one hand each on Rick and Lori. "We have to get off the highway! We're sitting ducks out here! They're everywhere!"

Rick finally ripped his son off of him, freeing himself. He turned Carl into his mother and shouted, "You do not let him go! You hold onto him! Hold onto him!" And then he turned and searched desperately for some safe place.

He saw fires burning, people running, walkers lurching across headlight beams.

"There!" Shane pointed to the other end of the highway, across four lanes of chaos, where another dark forest awaited them. "Away from the city! Away from the cars!"

"It's too far!" Lori cried.

"Dad! Sophia!" Carl screamed.

His son was pinching his arm, near to drawing blood. Rick turned to their neighbor car, where two walkers were pawing at the windows and the family was screaming inside.

Rick could not run, like he had in the woods.

"You go!" he said to Shane, "You take them! I'll get them out!"

"No!" Lori shouted, reaching out for Rick. He dodged the touch, and Shane practically had to drag her away. She was shouting all the way to the divider. "Rick! _Rick_!"

Rick drew his gun again. Her shouting had attracted the walkers from the car, and now they noticed him standing there. One of them had a broken leg, and it dragged it along the asphalt, like it felt no pain. Rick led them in a circle around the car, trying to find any other solution than the one he had discovered before. _These are people_, he told himself. _Sick people_. _People_.

But there was no other way. He could not stop them, he could not detain them, and more would certainly be on the way. His family was out there somewhere and there was no time for a peaceful solution. It was time for action.

Rick aimed for the head, taking them both down in quick succession.

He banged on the doors, "Come on! Get out! Come on!"

Ed was out first, wielding a bloody baseball bat. He had been the one to break that leg. His eyes were wild and bloodshot. He was off instantly, sprinting toward the woods, before his family had left the car. Rick helped Carol out, but he had to peel the terrified little girl from her seat. She clutched a doll and sobbed loudly in his arms.

Carol searched around frantically, "Where did he go? Ed! Ed!"

"Shh," Rick snapped, bundling Sophia against him and grabbing her mother by the hand. "Come with me. Come with me."

His heart raced as they made their run. He dodged between cars, stopping sometimes, breathless, to let the walkers amble past. He turned a blind eye to screaming people, people who were desperate for help, locked in their vehicles. He set his mind on a single path again and followed it.

In the woods, the noises and lights were dimmed. He set the girl down and she locked around her mother. Carol was looking back at the cars, the firelight reflected in her glassy eyes. "Oh, Ed," she murmured. Her eyes turned to him at last, shocked and afraid. "Where do we go?"

"Come with me," he said again, taking her hand.

He wove through the trees, keeping as quiet as he could, and kept hissing their names.

"Shane? Lori! Carl!"

Minutes passed, and the only sounds were the leaves rustling underfoot. Sometimes they heard other feet rustling around, but there was no response to his calls. He kept his gun out.

It took ten minutes before a response came from a patch of trees.

"Rick?"

Rick followed his voice, tripping over a few roots before he discovered them hiding behind a hefty oak tree. Lori was on him immediately. He hugged her like he had not seen her in five years, not just a few minutes. Carol was whispering to Shane, "Did you see Ed come by here?"

"I did. Couldn't miss him," Shane said. "We'll find him, don't worry."

Rick peeled Lori off of him, "I have to go back. Those people need help."

"_We_ need you," Lori insisted.

"Don't leave!" Carl whined.

Rick felt his heart split in two. It was his duty, his calling in life, to protect others. But if he left his family here, there was no telling what might happen to them. He had to shut out the screaming, shut down that side of himself, and run.

So, they ran.

Shane took the front, and Rick followed at the back. Both had their guns drawn. Rick did his best to keep everyone in line, but they kept crashing into other fleeing groups. Somehow, they picked up a few extra members, until there were eight of them running together instead of six. Shane kept them moving, kept crisscrossing through the woods, until the forest became quiet again.

He stopped in a clearing dominated by a large boulder, and everyone doubled over to try and catch their breath. Lori and Carol clung to their children. Rick and Shane held their guns ready, slowly circling the clearing, staring into the woods. For now, the only light came from the dim moon above, and the cellphones they pointed fearfully at the trees.

"Jesus," Shane said. "Jesus… Jesus…"

Rick made a note of the new faces that had appeared. Ed was not among them. He holstered his gun for a moment and approached the trembling people, his hand out. "I'm Rick."

"Jacqui," a woman said, shaking his hand.

"Dale," a man responded. "You got another one of those guns?"

"Sorry, just this one."

"You didn't happen to see two young women out there on the highway, did you? I was traveling with two girls, blonde, blue eyes." Dale looked around hopefully, and then seemed sort of dejected. "We got separated when all this started."

Rick had no comforting words for him. "Everybody okay? Is anybody injured?"

He got some nods, some muted stares. Carol drifted toward him.

"I have to find Ed," she said again.

Something rustled in the woods.

Rick and Shane directed the group into a huddle, and they waited at the front, guns ready. Rick's heart was beating at a hundred miles an hour, sweat rolling down his face.

But it was just a boy. He stumbled out of the trees, tripped on a root, and fell face-first at their feet, gasping for air. He put his hands up when he saw the guns. "Don't shoot! Please! I'm sorry!"

Rick looked at Shane and holstered his gun.

Shane asked, "You runnin' from something?"

"W-What?" the boy stammered.

"Is something chasing you?" Shane clarified, his gun still raised toward the trees.

"N-No," the boy answered. "Just running. Just running."

Rick helped him up. "Easy. Just breathe."

He began talking, stammering, words gushing out of him, "I-I-I-I was on the road, and there was just… just… just no warning." He cupped his face, doubling over his middle. "What is going on? What is going on?"

For a few long minutes, the only sound was the boy saying that to himself over and over. Rick heard nothing else from the woods, save the screaming in the distance. He let the kid have a moment to breathe, and then got hands on his shoulders, making him stand upright again. He was shaking, dark eyes darting all around.

"Hey, hey, easy," Rick said, holding him steady. "My name is Rick, and this is Shane."

"G-G-Glenn."

"You just stay here with us for now, Glenn." Rick faced the group again, now full of new faces. He kept his voice low, a calm whisper that did not betray how afraid he was. "If we all just stay together, and stay calm, we can try to stay safe through the night, okay? But that only works if everyone is cooperating. So, I need everybody to take a breath."

Several people took his advice literally, and the rest just stared at him, waiting.

"Okay." Rick looked to his partner. "Shane and I are both police officers. We have guns. Shane is gonna be at the front, and I'll be at the back. We're gonna walk in a line, in pairs. Follow the people in front of you as closely as you can."

"Where are we going?" Carol asked sheepishly.

"Not far, but we have to find someplace safe. We're too exposed out here, too close to the highway." He hated that terrified look in her eyes. "I'm gonna do my best to find your husband. You can hold me to that."

She nodded, looking down sharply, tears piling over her cheeks.

"If you see a walker, just holler," Shane added.

"W-Walker?" Glenn asked.

"You shoot 'em, they just keep comin'," Shane clarified.

It began that way, in a forest on the far side of the highway, a little group marching two-by-two into the night. Rick never let his guard down, never put his gun away. He let the images of Atlanta burning fuel his mind. Whatever came in the morning, he was ready.


	2. What We Were

**Chapter 2.**

**What We Were.**

_**Negan**_**.**

It was a nice day for everything to go to shit. Negan thought it must have been the best day there had ever been, all warm and sunny, with a gentle breeze, leaves all green, sky all blue. But there was an unmistakable difference in the air, something very wrong with the town. It was the screaming in the distance. He kept his eyes on the horizon, where the road curved and people were climbing through the shattered front of a store – it was just there, just beyond that.

Something was coming.

He rolled the tip of a baseball bat back and forth over the asphalt, eyes on the road.

Negan tapped on the office door, "Hey, baby, we gotta get moving. Get your shit together."

The looters down the road scattered.

One of the infected appeared around the corner, attracted to the glass breaking. It limped steadily after the fleeing people, jerking first toward the closest, and then toward a man who was shouting.

Negan stilled his bat, every muscle tense, "Baby?"

It turned unmistakably in his direction as the looter sprinted up the road.

He banged on the door this time, "Come on, before I drag you out."

Lucille emerged from the office, a duffel bag over her shoulder, her hand on her mouth as she beheld the scene unfolding in the street. He was closer now, and it was obvious the looter was a young kid, no more than fourteen or fifteen. "Negan…?" she whispered.

He groaned, "Get in the car."

"But-"

"I'm gonna help him, just get your ass in the car."

Dr. Todd came out, her eyes on the boy in the road, and the infected man pursuing him.

"Oh, wow, she does come outside. I thought your kind burned in the sun." Negan motioned down the road. "You can take it, if you want. I just cleaned this bat, and I know how much sucking the souls out of youths turns you on." She glared at him. He grinned. "No?"

She was already closing the door as she responded, "I wish you weren't such an asshole."

"Would an asshole save this poor kid?" he said, and then he sighed. "I always love our little talks. See you on the other side, you raging _bitch_."

Negan started toward them, banging his bat on the trunk to get their attention – the kid turned toward him, shouting and waving, "Help!" and the infected limped after him, groaning.

It was a slow chase, an insidious progression, but a chase nonetheless. Negan thought it was unnerving, creepier than something sprinting toward him. He had not seen one actually reach their target yet, but he knew what would happen when it did. It had blood trailing from its mouth and down its shirt, bits of meat dangling from its gnashing teeth.

When the kid reached him, he nearly fell in his haste to get behind Negan. His pockets were still bulging with the shit he had stolen.

"Bad karma, kid," he remarked.

Negan strode forward, gripping his bat with two hands. He could feel his pulse racing through his palms. He lunged, catching the infected man straight across the face. A shower of blood erupted and burst backward, spraying the pavement. The man crumpled, going as still as he should have been the first time he died. Negan staggered with the force of his swing.

When he turned, the kid was gone.

Lucille said nothing in the car. She shuffled her legs to accommodate his bloody baseball bat, and then gazed out the window at the body in the street. She looked a little green, a little paler than usual, and her hand slid up to touch her throat.

"Please, try not to yarf in the car."

She rolled her eyes, but her voice trembled, "How about we pump you full of chemicals and see if you yarf in the car. And that man… He was… He was…"

"He was already dead."

"But he was still a person. He was still _someone_."

"Yeah, someone who was gonna kill that kid."

She was quiet.

"Did she give you enough?" he asked.

She gripped the side of the duffel, "Enough until this blows over."

It was difficult to leave Chester – not from an emotional side, because there might not be any other town that Negan liked _less_, but physically difficult, because the roads were blocked. It usually only took him a few minutes to get onto the highway, but every route he tried was either jammed with stopped cars or surrounded by fields of shuffling infected. Lucille trembled when she saw one.

"Do you think…?" Lucille began, trailing off.

"What?"

"Do you think they'll find a way to help them?"

He snorted. "Baby, they're dead already."

"I know that. But they might be able to help them."

"Dead is dead, no coming back from that."

She was silent, looking away from him.

"Hey, you asked for my opinion, and I gave it. We needed a purge, anyway."

"Be serious," she chided.

"I am being serious – serious as _cancer_."

"You're such an asshole."

"If I was as big of an asshole as everyone says, I would have left you at the house. All you've done is complain and talk shit. I would have had a much nicer ride on my own – and I bet that mouth wouldn't be so big if you were out here alone."

She gave him that look that they both knew – the look that said they were both full of shit.

"I would have gone with Dean," she said.

"Dean? You think Captain Limp-Dick and his crotch rocket will keep you safe? Maybe we can still find him. I'll drop you off, see how long he can handle your chemo-farts."

Lucille laughed.

"I'll keep you safe and make you laugh while I do it," Negan went on. "I would give you one day with Dean before you lost your damn mind. He's too serious."

"This _is_ serious. People are dying – lots of people."

"Yeah but getting our panties all twisted ain't gonna bring 'em back, and it's certainly not gonna keep them off our ass. That's why I brought the bat."

She rolled her eyes, "I've seen you swing a bat. I was never impressed."

"Oh yeah? You sure? I knocked that thing into the next world back there, and I looked cool as shit doing it, too. I might get out and take out a few more, work on my swing."

She smiled, reaching over to take his free hand. "You're so full of shit."

"Yeah, you love it."

Chesterfield eluded him over and over. Negan started strangling the steering wheel as they circled back a fourth time. He took them down a route with the infected wandering around in the road and had to do a quick U-turn to avoid them – Lucille heaved out the window. He took them down the last possible route, a highway he never used, and slowed to a stop about two miles down it.

It ended abruptly in a traffic snarl, where an 18-wheeler had flipped on its side and blocked the whole road. A few cars were lined up behind it, sideways, noses touching. Negan kept his hands on the wheel, kept the car running. His gas gauge was falling steadily.

"We can walk," Lucille said halfheartedly.

He had nothing funny to say.

"How do you feel?"

"I can do it. I just need you to carry the bags."

Negan was reluctant to leave the car. A thousand options ran through his mind. They could go back home and try to wait it out in their neighborhood, but they had little food stockpiled and the stores they passed had already been looted – and some were overrun with infected people. It would be risky and time-consuming to get back into Chester, and they might wind their gas down completely and be left without a vehicle. They could turn around and retry some other routes, hope the infected had moved on, or that he could plow through them.

Or they could leave the car and go by foot, hoofing the last four miles into Chesterfield and hoping they had fared better than Chester.

He loaded the bags onto his shoulders, gripped the bat in his right hand, and they set off.

Lucille was unsteady. She walked behind him, meandering, sometimes stopping to catch her breath. She rejected his offer to take a break. As they got closer to the cars, his skin started crawling. It was impossible to see beyond the 18-wheeler.

"I'll climb up, you stay here, shout if you see anything."

Negan scrambled up the truck axel.

"Dean would have been much smoother," Lucille commented.

"If we run into him, make sure you tell him that," Negan said, hauling himself onto the side of the truck. The metal scalded his bare arms. "Jesus, it's like an oven up here."

"Do you see anything?"

He got to his feet, took a few steps, and froze.

Negan stood perfectly still, watching a dozen or more figures limp up and down the road beyond, utterly directionless for now. Some of them were close enough to identify – a young woman, a man in a gray suit, a guy with a cast on his arm. Some had blood splattered down from their mouths onto their shirts. Bodies lay in the road, covered in flies. His stomach churned.

He turned back to the road behind them and saw the same thing in the distance, not quite close enough to worry, but definitely headed in their direction. Even as he stood there, the bobbing heads the way they had come multiplied.

Negan climbed down, careful not to make a sound, and grabbed Lucille by the hand, whispering, "Stay quiet, follow me."

It was time to leave the road, and the car.

Lucille registered what he had seen a moment later than him, her hand shutting like a vice around his. He felt her begin to shake, felt her pulse quicken. She stumbled a few times and he tightened his grip, keeping her upright by sheer force of will. Negan focused wholly ahead, mapping his route, placing his feet on the quietest path, and Lucille's head swiveled as she beheld the infected before them, and the mob forming behind.

Negan stopped when they made it into the forest, when the underbrush was thick enough to conceal them. He watched the infected, watched the group coming up the road grow larger and stall at the overturned truck. Some of them found their way around, others milled about, going off in random directions. Some started on worrying paths toward the woods.

When he turned back, Lucille was on one knee, breathing heavily, her sides heaving.

"Hey, hey," he circled her, crouching nearby and pulling off her knit hat. "Let that dome breathe. I would offer to hold back your hair, but… you know."

She tried to smile, and threw up again, "I hate you."

"Is this because you're scared? Or are you just really out of shape?"

She panted, speaking between breaths, "I think it might be both."

Negan helped her back to her feet. She leaned heavily into him, resting her face against his neck. "Your boobs have the worst timing, honey, I swear. Six months ago, and you could be lying back, eating an ice pop. Do you think this is karma for that time you stole a pen at the bank?"

She laughed, "It was an accident."

"You sure? I remember it differently." He stroked her head, and murmured, "We gotta keep going. I know it sucks, but we gotta."

She nodded into his neck.

Negan started a path parallel to the road, calling back to her, "Stop looking at my ass."

Lucille laughed and followed.

It was a slow, unsteady walk. Lucille kept having to stop, to dry heave into the bushes, to rest on her knees with her palms on the ground. Negan watched her, sharing her misery. It was like someone was pinching his heart, watching her struggle like this. She rejected his offer to carry her three times, and then after struggling for another half hour, he offered again. She just sat down and cried, hugging her knees.

Negan sunk down beside her, against the trunk of a pine tree nearly choked in vines. He drew her into his side, and she quieted, staring at the forest with wet eyes.

"Our first date was something like this," he commented.

She said nothing.

"What, nothing? Come on, you love correcting me."

She gave the faintest smile, "Our first date was in a diner, you doof."

"There she is."

Lucille rolled her head against his shoulder, sighing, "You should go."

"Oh, don't start that."

"I'm serious, baby, you should just leave me here."

Negan felt a flash of fear, followed by anger, "You better cut that shit out."

She was unfazed by his tone, "It'll be dark soon."

He tipped her head up, noticing how awful she was starting to look. She was paler, her eyes red, her face drawn. Negan experienced a brief, powerful memory of who she used to be – curly brown hair, impossibly warm eyes, a smile that was so alive. Her face haunted him then, and it haunted him now. It floored him to see her this way, trembling, frightened, and begging him to leave her behind. It was not just wrong, not just cruel, but crushing.

Negan cupped her face delicately, afraid of adding the slightest hurt to her heavy burden, and said, "Baby, I talk a lot of shit, but you know _damn_ _well_ I'm not leavin' you here."

She let her head drop onto his shoulder and shut her eyes tightly, "I need you to carry me, then."

He carried her on his back. It was not such a feat now, because she was a shell of the woman she was. She weighed seventy pounds, max. But the task still wore him down, made him sweat, made the muscles in his arms and legs burn like fire. He showed little of that to Lucille, pressing on for as long as he could, and only breaking when he thought he might drop her.

It went on like that until dusk, until the woods opened up into a broader field dotted with a few houses, on long driveways back from the empty road. Negan set Lucille down and they ventured out of the trees together.

"Do you think they evacuated?" Lucille wondered.

Negan stared at the first home, looking for signs of movement. He wanted to stay out in the open, where there were no corners for the infected to come limping around, but there was no way they could keep going. Lucille was deathly tired, and he was rapidly running out of steam. He could force himself to go on if he had to, but it would _suck_.

"Maybe we could sleep here for the night," Lucille said. "I don't think they would mind, given the circumstances. I mean, I'm sure they would understand. We can leave it just like we found it."

It was quiet around here. Chesterfield was another mile or two down the road, at least. If they kept going, they would be stumbling around in the dark, or using flashlights and attracting unwanted attention. But the houses seemed so ominous to him.

"Negan?" Lucille touched his arm, frowning, "You're shaking."

"I'm tired," he responded, pulling away from her touch. "Let's check it out. Stay close to me."

He went to the back door, trying the knob. It was locked. He put his bat through one of the window panes and reached in. Lucille hovered behind him.

"Stay here. I'm gonna make sure it's empty."

Negan stepped inside, through a small kitchen. Someone had left breakfast out on the table – soggy cereal and rubbery bacon. They had not been gone for more than a day. Still, the house had that absent look about it – drawers open, closet doors cracked, beds unmade. Whoever had lived here had gone and packed a bag, probably heading to the refugee camp.

He was on edge the whole time he was inside, checking every closet, every dark corner, even peeking into the attic.

He was just heading back downstairs when he heard Lucille screaming.

Negan had never taken stairs so fast in his life – two or three at a time, vaulting down the railing. Lucille crashed into him at the bottom, with an infected man limping after her.

He was terrible, half his face missing, a big hole leaking in his chest. And he was groaning, hungering, reaching out for them – reaching out for _her_.

Negan swung his bat, putting more force into it than he should have. When it made contact, the thing's whole skull exploded from the pressure, splattering the walls with filth. It hit the ground with a solid _thunk_ at his feet, oozing blackish blood onto the carpet.

Lucille held him from behind, hiding her face in his back. "It just walked into the yard."

"It's okay. It ain't walking anywhere now. You still wanna talk shit about my swing?"

She stared at the body, shaking.

"Come on, the water is still working. I'll get the doors closed, and you go up and take a bath, try to calm down. I'll find us something to eat."

She cleared her throat, "I think I'll just stay with you."

"Rest of the house is empty," he said, but she made no move to leave. "Okay. Okay."

He dragged the body outside, tossing it down the steps and relocking the door. He taped over the pane he had broken. While he worked, Lucille dug around in the cabinets, pulling down some peanut butter, bread, and utensils and making them sandwiches.

She came to him with two plates full of food, frowning, "I can leave a note, explain-"

"Sweet pea, they don't give a shit. They up and left. Let's eat upstairs."

Negan stripped and shimmied under the covers of a king-sized bed, lying still and resting for a few minutes before he touched his food. Lucille picked at hers, taking it into the bathroom with her. She lay in the water with just her face sticking out, her eyes shut, for hours. Negan kept going in to check on her, sure she would fall asleep and drown.

She came into the bedroom when it had been dark for several hours, poking around in the drawers until she settled on an overlarge shirt to sleep in. "Must have been a big guy living here," she commented, slipping it on and holding it out to show him the size.

Negan stirred from a sort of trance. He had been staring at the blank TV for half an hour, hoping it would just spontaneously turn on. "Jesus, you could fit us both in that," he responded. "Did you see any pictures around? I gotta get a look at this land whale."

"You should be grateful for him. We needed a break."

"I'd be grateful if he had a few oranges in the place, maybe a banana. I got scurvy just walking in the door – not a fresh food to be found."

"Oh, please, you had three hotdogs for breakfast this morning." Lucille crawled in beside him, snuggling into his side like she always did.

Negan put an arm around her. "I'm trim, if anything. You, on the other hand, could stand to gain a few pounds. Your thigh just touched mine and I thought Skeletor was in bed with us."

"You tend to lose weight when you feel like death every day." She smirked, and then laughed when he pretended to be stabbed by her elbow. "This is why I stopped inviting you to chemo."

"You didn't stop inviting me, I stopped offering to take you. All those other husbands and wives have sticks up their asses."

"No, you're just _mean_."

"I'm not mean. When have I ever been mean?"

"You _just_ compared me to Skeletor."

"In jest."

She smiled, "Not everybody gets your sense of humor."

"You're the only one who matters."

"Mm. Maybe. But some people see it differently than me, and then I never hear the end of it."

"Oh, yeah, like your doctor. She had the audacity to call me an asshole. _Me_ – the light of your life."

"She called you much worse than that before you rushed me out of there."

"Yeah? Well, I probably deserved it."

Lucille smiled, and leaned her head on his shoulder. Her skin was warm against his, and she was not nearly as bony as he pretended she was. She had gained a lot of weight back from her last relapse months ago and had only just started losing it again.

Her voice was quieter, like she was falling asleep.

"We were talking about just going ahead with the mastectomy, both sides."

She tipped her head up to look at his face, as if waiting for him to say something shitty about getting rid of her breasts. He had tried in the past to make her understand that her body was just a bonus in their relationship – his love for her was the purest thing about him. He had no words to explain it, though, no way to express something so abstract. Sometimes she got it, but when she was really down and exhausted, it slipped her mind.

Negan kissed her forehead, "Whatever it takes. But you might have to put it on hold for now."

Lucille was quiet for a while, so long that he was sure she was asleep, but then she finally whispered something that broke his heart. "I hate you seeing me like this. You married a badass and now you have to deal with – well, _this_."

"Baby, you're still a badass. You know that. I admire you."

"From a safe distance."

"I'm not afraid I'm gonna catch the cancer, honey." When she said nothing, he went on, "Hey, you lose all the hair you want, all the weight you want, all the boob you want – you're still hot as shit."

She laughed, and drifted off.


	3. Happening

**Chapter 3.**

**Happening.**

_**Carol**_**.**

_God does not let us down. God protects us. God lifts us up. God keeps us warm_.

Carol Peletier was awake for hours before the sun rose. She sat against the back wall of a ruined tobacco barn, her daughter curled up sleeping against her leg. She kept a hand on her, worried she would just disappear like her father. Her fear kept her alert, kept her aware, kept her together. It made the moving shadows around the barn into other people. One at a time, they joined her, awake and afraid, silent for fear of the darkness outside.

She fingered the cross around her neck, and repeated her prayer like a mantra, determined to make it mean something. _God does not let us down. God protects us. God lifts us up. God keeps us warm_.

Rick was the first to speak as the barn was lit by a gloomy dawn. He rose from his family, a tall, rugged man – first light illuminated the dried blood sprayed across his jaw. His expression was grim as he looked around at all of them.

"Everyone, wake up. Come on. Check yourselves for injuries, now that we have the light."

Carol had a gash on her thigh from getting whacked by a spike stick. It was red and angry this morning, the skin puffed up over the scratches, but it looked a lot worse than it felt. She quietly turned her leg to the side, hiding it in shadow. Sophia had tripped and hurt her ankle.

While the others got up, stretched, murmured to one another, Carol turned her attention to her daughter. It seemed cruel to let her lay there in the dirt, curled up like a lost puppy, but there was nothing better that Carol could give her. It stung, being so useless. She only had the power to let her sleep for the moment, until the sounds eventually forced her to stir. It was only an extra ten minutes, in the end, but it might mean the world to her later on.

Sophia groaned, turning her face up and peering at Carol. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, reflecting the sunlight like glass. She had that beautiful green in them, the same as Carol, the same as her grandmother.

Carol stroked her short hair, giving her the best smile she could manage. "Hey, Button. It's okay. We're safe here. We're safe."

"Where?" Sophia rasped.

"Way out in the woods, in a barn. Do you remember?"

Sophia nodded sleepily, resting her face on Carol's thigh and sighing. She drew her leg up and winced, a single tear going down her cheek. "It still hurts."

"I know. I know it does." Carol looked over her ankle, finding it hot and swollen, but not broken She tried to keep her emotions to herself, but the relief was hard to hide. "Nothing is broken. Give it a few days to rest, or it might get mean."

"Like your wrist?"

"Mhm."

Rick was making his rounds, checking everyone out. He got around to them and crouched at a respectful distance, recognizing how afraid Sophia was. "Hey, your name is Sophia, right? I'm Rick. We met on the highway last night."

When she had tripped and twisted her ankle in the woods, Rick had been the one to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way. Carol was not strong enough.

Sophia nodded shyly.

"Do you mind if I check that ankle out?"

Carol was almost certain her diagnosis was right, but she knew men liked to take charge, knew there was nothing they liked less than a woman knowing more than they did, so she invited him to look again.

His exam was short and simple.

"I think she just sprained it. Nothing feels broken. She should stay off it for a while."

Carol nodded, "Thank you."

He tipped his wide-brimmed sheriff hat and moved on. Carol answered a few more questions for her daughter – why are we here? Where is Ed? Why did those people on the highway try to hurt them? How long did they have to stay here? – but she kept her eyes on the sheriff.

Rick made his last stop with a man who had stumbled into the barn, injured, in the middle of the night. He had been gasping too much to give anyone his name and he had slept, curled up, in the far corner, near the open part of the wall. Shane had been with him since dawn, a comforting hand on his back, whispering with him.

He was large, his torn clothes covered in blood. One of his arms was tucked into his stomach.

Rick crouched, and prompted him quietly, "Sir? Hey, can you hear me? I want to look at your wounds, see if I can help you."

"He says his name is Charlie," Shane supplied. "He hurt his arm."

Carol watched with bated breath. It seemed everyone had stopped to watch, to wait, to see what was going to happen here. She had seen many badly injured people on the highway, but how were they supposed to help them here? In the middle of the woods there would be no ambulance, no paramedics. Was the hospital even open? Was it still standing?

"We just want to check you out. Can we do that?" Rick prompted.

Long, long seconds passed with only the sound of his harsh breathing.

"Can you show me your arm?" Rick asked.

And then Charlie finally responded, "Yes. Help. Please."

He unfolded his arm and let it hang beside him. It was shredded, meaty, dripping blood along its length. It looked like someone had sliced up a raw sausage.

A barn full of people gasped. Jacqui turned and vomited. Sophia screamed. Carol staggered to her feet, sucking in a breath. Glenn seemed ready to bolt, but his legs were not working. He just bounced up and down on the spot.

Lori took a step toward her husband, "Rick…?"

For the moment, the sheriff was silent.

Shane tried to speak, but only uttered nonsense.

"Help," the man rattled again.

Rick shook himself, his voice returning, "He's lost a lot of blood. Does anybody have an extra shirt or a towel or anything? We need to wrap this wound."

It was hard to watch them work, to hear it. Rick sent everyone else out of the barn, and the group gathered at a brick pile just a dozen yards away. It was impossible to go far enough in those woods to get away from the screaming.

Rick came out half an hour later, trailed by Shane. Both men had blood all over their hands and forearms, and dark looks on their faces.

"Charlie is stable for now," Rick said, sighing heavily. "But, without a doctor he won't make it. That's just the truth. Shane and I are going back to the highway to find help. If anyone wants to come, you can, but know that it might still be dangerous out there."

Carol asked, "Will you look for Ed?"

Rick nodded, "I'll look for him. You have my word." He looked almost reflexively at his wife, and then at the ground, "If I don't come back…"

"You have to," Carl said in a high, whining voice. "Dad…"

Rick handed the boy his hat, whispering, "I need you to keep this safe for me until I get back, okay? I'm comin' back. I am."

Dale cleared his throat and crossed his arms resolutely, "I want to come with you. I have to look for Andrea and Amy – and I have an RV. It might have something useful in it. I was heading out of the city, so the road is mostly clear around it."

It was decided. Rick, Shane, and Dale left for the highway. Shane gave his spare gun to Lori, and she sat down beside Carol with it sitting in her lap.

It had only been quiet for a moment when Carol said, "Do you think Ed…?"

Lori looked at her, sympathy in her dark eyes. "Ed is fine. He probably found somewhere to stay overnight, just like us."

Carol managed a smile. "How long have you been married?"

"Going on fifteen years. How old is your Sophia? Carl just turned twelve."

"Just about the same."

Lori was quiet for a moment, gazing at the forest, a bit of distance in her eyes, and then she said, "Rick took us camping once when Carl was little. I _hated_ it. I got eaten alive by mosquitoes, and Carl got sun poisoning. He cried and cried. When we got back home, I wouldn't talk to Rick for _three days_. I think he got the message, because he sold all our camping gear and never brought it up again. But we laugh about it now."

Silence.

"Despite everything that happened, you have to admit it's beautiful out here."

_Happened, or happening?_ Carol thought. She imagined the monsters on the highway, the groaning, the clicked jaws, as she looked out into the quiet woods. It was as pretty a morning as Georgia could have, but she still hated it, hated this place. She wanted to be home. She wanted her daughter to be safe. She wanted Ed… well, she was uncertain about that.

She changed the subject.

"Do you know how to shoot?"

Lori looked down at the gun in her lap, as if she had just noticed it there. "Yeah. I take refreshers every few years. Rick wanted to teach Carl, but I just wanted him to have a few more years without a gun in his hands, you know? He already wants to be a police officers, like his dad."

"Let kids be kids," Carol agreed.

"Exactly. Do you shoot?"

"Oh, no. Ed doesn't… well, Ed has a collection, but I'm not… I don't like guns."

Carol danced around the truth and hated herself for it. Ed had a gun collection that she was not allowed to touch. Sometimes she went into his private room when he wasn't home and pulled them out, loaded in the bullets, and sat with them for a while, half of her hoping that he would come into the room and start shouting. She lay awake thinking of moments like that, praying, trying to decide if she was the wicked one, or if he was, for making her feel that way.

She looked away, down, to keep her thoughts to herself.

Lori responded softly, "Rick being sheriff, we had to get used to it. But I never liked having guns in the house. I hate the thought of Carl getting hurt."

Carol smiled suddenly, remembering her second date with Ed. She was still in high school, a sophomore, and he was a senior. He had taken her to the shooting range and put his arms around her to show her how to aim. When their daughter was born, Carol had fantasized that this sweet version of him would return. She waited for it every day. But so far Ed had shattered that life she imagined. He liked them to be quiet. He liked his loud friends. He liked his private rooms.

And now he might be dead.

She might be raising Sophia on her own.

Everyone started to grow restless as the morning passed into afternoon. Carol and Lori chatted about everything and nothing, and others joined and left the conversation. She learned the Lori was a stay at home mom, like her, and that Jacqui worked in the office of city planning in Atlanta. If he was asked a direct question, Glenn would respond, but he was busy pacing the perimeter, alert to every sound, stopping to ask himself, again, what was going on. He was responsible for checking on Charlie, and each time he came out of the barn, his face was paler.

It got hot the longer the afternoon went, as hot as Carol could remember it being, and everyone was hungry and thirsty. Her stomach growled, beginning to ache, and Sophia and Carl complained constantly – there was nothing to feed them, to feed anyone. Carol and Lori tried to keep them occupied, keep their minds off of it, but it never lasted long.

Glenn went off looking for water in the late afternoon. He never went far, as nervous as he was, but he probed the area all around the barn and seemed guilty when he brought nothing back.

It was almost evening when the quiet spell of the woods was broken.

Jacqui heard it first, saw it first. She was sitting against a tree near the barn entrance and she jumped up suddenly, screaming, falling over her feet trying to back away.

Everything stopped all at once. Carol stopped thinking, stopped breathing. She was on her feet, eyes wide and searching, heart racing, before the fear could process. Lori was right beside her, and the two of them formed a protective barrier in front of the kids.

He was there, limping out of the barn. _Charlie_. His eyes were lifeless. His skin was sallow. His bandaged arm hung limply at his side. He uttered a terrible, long groaning sound that cut off and restarted with each step. He seemed pointless, directionless, and then his body turned toward Carol and Lori, who were closest to him, and his eyes seemed to try and focus on them.

He walked, one unsteady step at a time, a halting motion.

Carol was briefly overwhelmed with terror. It was happening again, just like on the highway. Only her husband was not here this time to yell at her to get into the car. She had to make a choice, to save herself, and her daughter.

She twisted, grabbing Sophia under the arms and hauling her upright. "Go! _Run_!" she screamed. Carl was already on his feet. She shoved them both, "Get back!"

Lori was backing away, leveling the gun at him, barking commands, "Stay back! Stay there!" Her voice cracked. Carol staggered on the spot, unsure if she should go to the kids, or stay and help. "Jesus," Lori gasped, "Please, Charlie, please stop!"

But he just kept coming, like he heard nothing, like he knew nothing.

Like he _was_ nothing.

"Shoot him! What are you doing?" Glenn shouted.

Lori faltered, trembled, and then fired. She clipped him in the jaw. It was ripped sideways and hung off of his face. He stumbled but did not stop. She fired again, and the bullet tore through his neck, nearly taking his head off, blowing flesh and blood backwards into the barn.

She fired again, one final shot to the head, and Charlie dropped to the ground.

He was still this time – still as death.

Carol went to the kids, who had only gone to the first tree to hide and held them both in her arms like a terrified mother hen. Glenn was pacing again, saying to himself, "Oh my God, what is going on? What is going on?"

"Mom?" Carl called.

Lori shook herself, like her husband had that morning, and came over to them. Her eyes were glassy. Carl broke away to embrace her. Lori held her boy, the gun hanging limply behind his back. She let out a single sob and shut her eyes, and a single tear went down her cheek.

"He was…?" Carol said, though her words fell on deaf ears. Sophia was holding her waist so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "He died… He died."

Glenn approached the body, his voice low and purposeful, "He was bitten, all over his arm. Whatever this is, if you get bitten, you get infected and you… you become one of them." He cleared his throat, cleared his husky voice. "I think they were trying to figure out if it was airborne, or came from sneezing, or whatever, but this tells us. You have to get bitten."

"It could still be spread other ways," Jacqui said, gradually coming back toward them. She never took her eyes off the body. "We shouldn't touch it."

"O-O-Okay just everybody stay here, stay together," Lori said, finding her voice. She let go of her son at last and turned to stare at the body, fear and regret all over her face. "We'll wait for the others to get back – we'll wait for Rick to get back."

It was getting dark when the men returned. Rick called softly, "It's us, don't shoot," and then they emerged from the forest behind the barn. But there were more of them now.

Rick was first, more haggard than he had been this morning, and a little sunburnt, and then six strangers came behind him. Dale was mixed among them. Shane was at the rear, a large hiking backpack on his shoulders. He looked spooked.

"What happened?" Rick asked, as everyone came around and noticed the walker.

Lori went to him and put her arms around his neck, whispering, "Charlie… he was one of them. I had to shoot him. I didn't know what else to do."

"She saved us," Carol added.

"You did the right thing," Rick assured her, his eyes fixating on the walker over her shoulder, probably feeling the gravity of the situation. It could have gotten his wife, or his son. He pulled away from Lori to address the group, "We have to find a safer place to stay. Out here, we're too exposed, too vulnerable. We can't possibly watch all angles, and if more than one of them comes this way, we might get overwhelmed. We scouted a quarry a few miles north of here. It looks like we can get a few vehicles up there as long as they come from the southbound side of the road. It'll be more defensible than this, with access to fresh water."

Carl wormed his way between his parents, "Did you find food?"

Shane shrugged off the backpack, "We got a few things. It was what was left in Dale's RV."

"Sorry if it tastes like can," Dale added.

"Some water bottles, too. Pass those around."

Rick distributed the cans, "Everyone take one and share it with someone. It's the best we can do right now. We'll spend another night here. Dale and I will go out at first light and start moving cars up to the quarry and see what we're dealing with up there. If it's safe, I'll come back and take you all there through the woods. I don't want to risk everyone going back on the road right now."

His words were hardly comforting. Carol took a can of corn and sat with Sophia, watching the dark grow around them as the girl ate her fill. It was not enough for both of them, not really, so Carol insisted Sophia finish it. She was feeling sick anyway. Her eyes kept going back to the corpse, the body that used to be a man, and wondering if that was what was in store for them all – either the predator, or the prey. It must have been awful, getting bitten like that, and then suffering on into the next day, only to die and become the very thing that had hurt him.

Rick made the rounds again, and he got to them when it was almost too dark to see. He crouched and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, Carol, Sophia, how you holdin' up?"

"Fine," she lied.

"I went looking for Ed, but I didn't find any sign of him on the road. He must still be in the woods somewhere, maybe towards the quarry if we're lucky."

Carol breathed deeply. She was still uncertain how she felt about his disappearance. She wanted him back at first, because that was a normal thing to want, but lately her only real concern had been for her daughter. "What did you see out there? On the highway?"

His eyes were dark, clouded, "I want to talk about that with everyone. I want to get the barn shut up for the night. Will you and Sophia come inside?"

She nodded, her throat a little thick as she said, "Come on, honey."

Rick and Shane dragged a rotting piece of drywall over the hole in the side of the barn. It was dotted with holes where the mold had eaten through it, letting in odd dots of moonlight, but the cover put the group at ease. Rick lit a meager fire and they all sat around it, their faces illuminated. It was not large enough or tall enough to be very warm, but the light was enough.

"I want to make some introductions to start," Rick said. He motioned to the new people, naming them in turn, beginning with two blonde women that sat with Dale, "Andrea, Amy." He moved on to an elderly couple who sat holding hands, "Marshall, Edith." And the man beside them, who looked very much like them, "and their son, William." He came last to a black man sitting beside Shane, who stared quietly into the fire, "Theodore."

"You can call me T-dog," the man corrected, flashing a tense smile.

"Right. T-dog." Rick then started naming everyone else. "You know me, Rick, and Shane, and Dale, and this is Lori, my wife, and my son Carl. Glenn. Jacqui. Carol and her daughter Sophia."

It was a strange group, a strange place to meet, a strange night to try to know each other. But the strangers still smiled hesitantly and stopped being strangers.

"We found these people along the highway," Rick said. He made a space for himself beside Lori and put his arm protectively around her shoulders, his other hand on his son. "It was… abandoned. No people and hardly any walkers."

"No police?" Glenn asked.

Rick shook his head. "I think – and I hate saying this – but I think we're on our own for now."

Shane added, "But as long as we stay together, we might have a chance. You folks could have scattered when that walker came out of the barn, but you stuck together. That's what we gotta do. We gotta stick together."

For a moment, everyone was silent.

Jacqui asked, "How are we going to get food? Water?"

"Once we get to the quarry, we can go out looking for food," Shane said. "We can forage, see if the abandoned cars have anything useful in them, maybe set some traps. As for water, the quarry has a lake in the middle, but we have to boil it before we drink it, just to be on the safe side."

He got blank stares in response.

Sophia looked up at Carol, whispering, "I'm hungry."

"We all are, sweetie," Carol responded softly.

Rick frowned to himself. "What you guys saw today with Charlie, we saw something like that back in King County a few days before all this got started. I didn't want to believe it at the time, or maybe I wasn't ready to believe it yet. One of the residents, guy named Henry, local drunk, always getting into trouble, got detained and thrown in jail after a fight with another man. Well, the other guy was shot dead at the scene because he was… he was biting him, not listening to commands, shred the skin on his arm just like how it was with Charlie."

He glanced at Shane, and there was a long pause in his story. No one spoke.

"Paramedics patched Henry up and put him in our jail for the time being. He got real sick overnight and the deputy noticed 'round the morning. He opened the cell to render aid, and Henry just lunged at him, like an animal, rabid as anything. He just…"

He paused, and Shane finished, "He killed him, took his damn throat out."

Carol looked down at Sophia, who was drifting in her arms, thankfully not paying attention to this chilling story. She had seen it firsthand now, but those words still frightened her.

"I guess that confirms it," Rick said. "He got bit, and then he became like them. I wish I had made the connection earlier. I put you all in danger by letting Charlie come in. I'm sorry for that."

"You didn't know," Lori murmured, rubbing his arm.

Shane plucked his hat off and ran a hand through his thick hair. Carol was starting to think he only did that when he was stressed. "Everybody got that? You see one of those things, you run in the other direction. Do not try to fight them, or talk to them, 'cause they don't talk back. They're gone. They're dead. There ain't nothin' left in that head to reason with."

It was quiet for a while.

Carol rocked gently back and forth, humming, and Sophia fell asleep in her arms. People talked amongst themselves, but the conversations died away. Gradually, they laid down to sleep, staying close to the fire and close to one another. Carol did her best to stay up, to stay aware, but exhaustion overtook her and she slipped away.


	4. The Dead

**Chapter 4.**

**The Dead.**

_**Daryl**_**.**

Daryl Dixon was dreaming of the little creek behind his childhood home – how it wound around the trees, exposing their roots along its steep bank, how it raced after a rainstorm, how his tire swing twisted and groaned in the wind. He was watching it, as relaxed as he had ever been, when a pine cone struck him in the face and brought him back into the real world.

He put his arms up to protect himself and rolled off of the tree limb he was perched on. His arm hooked instinctually around the branch and, for a few precious seconds, he dangled twenty feet above the ground.

"Oh, careful there, I ain't carryin' your ass."

His brother stalked the bottom of the tree like a hunting hound. He was big and bulky, grinning, all kinds of ugly packed into one mean mug.

"Come on, move your ass," Merle rasped. He had smoked just about everything you could smoke his whole life and there was no getting your voice back after that. "You're wastin' daylight up there, boy. Come on."

Daryl scrambled back onto the limb, his heart racing. It was barely dawn, too early for this shit.

"I said, move your ass!" Merle threw another pine cone.

Daryl groaned, "I'm comin', damn!"

"I swear, I ain't never seen a fella scurry up a tree like you before, little brother," Merle commented. "If I wasn't so sure your ass was part possum for that ugly face, I'd say you was half-squirrel at least. You know, Momma was goin' through a wild phase when you was-"

He was interrupted when Daryl made it to the ground and chucked a stick at his face. Merle knocked it away with his broad forearm, smiling.

"Look at you, all sunshine and rainbows this mornin'," he cooed. He held up a string of squirrels. "I bagged us a few while you was snoozin', you recognize any of these? Maybe you got a long-lost uncle on this string." When he got no response, he shrugged, "Cat got your tongue?"

Both of them looked up when a branch snapped nearby.

Merle lost his playful attitude and tucked the squirrels into his bag, his face grim. "Ain't seen hide or heel of that herd passed through last night, but I ain't tryin' to stick around. Get your shit and let's move. Highway ain't far from here."

It was already hot out. Daryl hauled his backpack over his sore shoulders and hooked his crossbow to it, following his brother into the trees.

He watched the forest, listened to it. Every now and then they passed a copse of red maple, a yellowwood or two, or a lone green ash – the forest was saying _water_. Daryl filled his canteen a few times over, gulping it down, sweating it out. They stopped to collect elderberries, eating a few for breakfast, saving most for later.

It was a one-sided conversation for a while, because Daryl was not a talker, and Merle was too busy talking to himself. He complained about the weather, grumbled about leaving his bike back home, and commented on the signs of wildlife around them.

"You see that? Black bear. Been through here recently, or them stalks would be back up by now. It was strippin' the berries off them bushes, breakin' the stems. Birds don't break stems."

"Could have been deer," Daryl responded.

"Deer don't like elderberries – they eat blueberries, mostly, if they're gonna partake. We would've seen more stem damage, and all them shoots would be half-eaten. No. Been a bear through here, mark my words. I would love to bag me a bear, have a big old roast, pack that baby up for the road. Mmm. I brought bear home before?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Hard to describe the taste. Whatever they been eatin'. We bagged a fishy son bitch when you was a ankle-biter, made me shit my guts out for days." He laughed. "It was a good time. Jess shot it right 'tween the eyes, let me skin it. You wouldn't _believe_ the blubber on it, like openin' up that fat bitch from that talk show, what's 'er name?"

Daryl shrugged.

"You get it, anyway. Big old pearls of white right under the skin. You ever bag a deer looks like that, cut it off before you cook it, 'less you lookin' to bleach your asshole the ol' fashioned way."

"Why we goin' to the highway?"

Merle responded with less energy than before, like that question had taken the joy out of this endless march through the woods. "You heard the radio, same as me."

"You wanna go to Atlanta?"

"Yeah."

Daryl was quiet, watching a squirrel scamper away from them. He raised his crossbow, but then decided against firing.

"You got somethin' else in mind, son?"

"We got warrants."

Merle chuckled, "Boy, you heard that shit, ain't nobody checkin' your name at the door."

"Why can't we just go home?"

Merle stopped, sighing, running his hand over his sweaty face. "What's with the twenty questions? We both agreed we had to leave. You gettin' cold feet? You wanna turn tail and hide? There ain't nobody left at home. We barely got outta there alive. We ain't goin' back."

It was still a fresh memory to him – the blood, the screaming.

Merle groaned, but his glare softened. "Jess is dead, boy. Pa is dead. We're on our own. It's just you and me now. You get that?"

Daryl nodded reluctantly, "I get it."

"Okay then. Stop this worryin' shit, good _lord_."

It took over an hour to get to the highway. Daryl listened to his brother, listened to the same lessons in tracking he had been hearing since he was a boy, and let his mind wander at the same time. He pictured the birds that were singing, imagined the tiny animals scratching around, studied the leaves and the needles beneath his feet. It was better in the woods, surrounded by trees, with a million leaves rustling to hide their existence. Merle wanted to leave that behind, to take to the road, to find other people and take shelter among them – but _why_?

When the forest ended, Merle set his stuff down and dragged some branches over it, and then checked the bullets in his pistol. Daryl stood by him, looking out over the wide stretch of asphalt. It was crowded on one side, the side going into Atlanta, and almost empty on the other.

Every car was stopped, gridlocked, and there were no signs of life anywhere.

Merle stood there considering it for a few moments, and then said, "Not exactly what I was hopin' for, but we still got a lot of opportunity in front of us. Probably all panicked, left their stuff behind, hoofed it to the city limits. Come on. Let's see what we can find to replenish our supply, maybe see if the road's clear enough to get my truck up here."

It was even hotter on the road. Daryl wiped sweat from his face constantly as they walked between the first row of cars. He started seeing bad signs – a flash of blood on the side of a car, a misplaced sneaker, a figure shuffling in the distance.

And the smell gradually built, a smell that embodied the essence of rot, of death, of decay. It permeated every pore, made his nose hairs burn, made him tense and edgy.

He saw the truth, at last, in the second row. He and Merle stopped and beheld it together. Bodies lay sprawled out, pieces of them missing, baking in the heat of the day. Some were barely human anymore, just chunks of meat with the remnants of clothes, eaten away down to the bone. If they still had faces, they were twisted with terror, frozen that way forever.

Merle started tapping bodies with his boot. "Dead. Dead. Super dead." He jumped back when one of them moved and started reaching for him, "Bout to be dead, c'mere."

He sliced its head clean in two.

Merle staggered, blood speckling his face, and wiped his blade clean on his pants leg. He put his hand hard on Daryl, squeezing his shoulder, "Go for the head, leave 'em real dead." He sheathed his machete. "Well, safe to say these fine folk won't be needin' their shit anymore."

Daryl stood there, watching blackish blood ooze out of one half of the split skull.

"Hey, boy, come on down to Earth," Merle said quietly, patting him hard on the back. "Don't you get soft on me now. Go on. Get movin'."

Daryl made himself move, doing his best not to think about what was going on. He had heard the radio, same as Merle, heard them declaring an emergency and listing shelters. He had not imagined it could be so big until now, until he walked along the road, between dozens of abandoned cars, and stepped over what was left of their passengers.

"Hey, see if you can score me some dope!" Merle called, growing further away.

It went on into the morning, until he was soaked with sweat, until his bare shoulders were sunburnt, and the smell of death stopped bothering him. Daryl wanted to stay away from the city, but Merle was leading them closer to it, and Daryl was bidden to follow.

He found countless bodies stored away, hiding, rotting – elderly people, pets, little kids, couples holding each other – and he found bloody photos and stuffed animals, wedding rings on chains, dogs dead in their kennels. He also found porn magazines, narcotics, heroin, and undoubtedly illegal weapons. He found arrows for his crossbow, a desert eagle that he tucked into his waistband, and a machete he was sure Merle would want.

His pockets were brimming with goods when he settled on a car that had slid into the divider. It seemed mostly undamaged, with no blood or gore around it, and it was packed to the ceiling.

Daryl peeked in the windows, grinning at the folded up sleeping bags inside. But the doors were locked. He tried to put his elbow through the window and failed.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Daryl whipped around, both hands going to his crossbow, but it was too late for that. He was looking down the silver-grey barrel of a shotgun.

It was held by a man in his forties, with a sunken, tired face, dark hair and a beard, and eyes as wild as anything. He had his finger on the trigger, ready to shoot, and that gun was as steady as the sun in his hands.

"I said, what do you think you're doing?" the man repeated.

"_Nothin'_," Daryl responded.

"Sure looked like something," the man said, his voice trembling with rage. "Sure looked like you were tryin' to steal from me. Is that what you were doing?"

"_Hey_! You best get that gun off him!"

Merle was shouting from down the road. Daryl tensed as his brother came into view behind the man. He could not make himself look away from the gun, as close as it was.

His brother stopped five feet away, just within his field of view, his voice booming and the veins in his face bulging, "Hey, _numbnuts_, I said stop that shit!"

"Back off," the man said, his voice trembling at last.

Daryl saw it then, an unwillingness to shoot. His finger shook on the trigger. He seemed more sad than anything, that rage aimed at someone else, or something else.

Suddenly, there was another voice.

"Whoa, whoa, hey. Everybody stop. Just stop."

Daryl did not look, but there were two people there on the edge of his vision. One voice sounded distinctly northern, a city guy, and the other was true-blue southern.

"What's going on here?" the southern one asked.

Silence.

Daryl swallowed, a bead of sweat jumping his eyebrow and nestling down into his eye. It stung and gave the sun a glare, but he stayed perfectly still.

"Can we start with our names?" the northerner asked, his voice low and pleading. "Just a name. You can call me Dale, and this is Rick. What can we call you?"

He was met with more silence.

He kept pushing. "We came out here looking for survivors. How did you get out here? Were you on the road last night when… when this all happened?"

Finally, the man with the shotgun ground out, "Jim."

"Jim. Okay, Jim." Dale stepped a little closer, bold, because now Daryl could see both of his hands and know that he was unarmed. "What happened here?"

"He was stealing from me."

Daryl might have done better if he kept his mouth shut, but he just couldn't. "I ain't steal shit."

"You were about to. I saw you."

"Jim, hey, can you lower that gun please?" Rick, the other one, the southerner, said. "We just want to talk to you. But you havin' that gun on him makes us all real nervous." He waited, and then added, "Is this really worth killing someone over? Do you really want to hurt him?"

It took a long, long second for any response to come. Daryl did not breathe. He waited, wondering if these were the questions this guy should be asking, wondering if Merle could do something before he got his face blown off. But he only had that one second to wonder, because Jim finally lowered his gun and released a shuddering gasp.

Merle lurched forward the moment the shotgun was down and grabbed Daryl, dragging him out to stand beside him – it was three groups then, the new arrivals, the bearded man, and the brothers.

He got a look at the two men at last, putting voices to faces immediately. Rick was the tall one, proud, dressed down in a brown police uniform with a handgun on his side and a wide-brimmed hat shading his face. His companion was shorter, older, with a white beard and beady, surprised eyes. Jim was scrawny, his beard bigger than his face, and those wild eyes darted around.

"I think you all should come back with us," Rick said. "We have a small group going, and we can keep each other safe." He was looking at Jim. "Do you have a family out here?"

Jim looked to the car and shook his head once, finally dropping those eyes.

"What about you two?" Rick asked of them.

Daryl said nothing. Merle grinned, "Just got each other, boss."

"We're trying to find a safe place to stay until help comes," Dale said. "We're heading to a quarry up the road, as soon as we get my RV started."

"You got kids there?" Jim asked.

Rick looked at him strangely.

Jim clarified, "I have sleeping bags in the car, kid-sized, some of them."

"You almost shot me over that shit," Daryl objected. "Now you're just givin' it away?"

Jim glared at him.

Merle grabbed Daryl hard on the shoulder, chuckling, "Whoa, what my brother is tryin' to say is we would be happy to join your group." He was trying to be genuine, but Daryl knew when he was full of shit. "You can call me Merle, and this here's my baby brother Daryl. He ain't so good with the social stuff, barely talks, practically mute, poor kid. Doctors called him a simpleton, but I find that shit offensive." He pulled a line of squirrels from his backpack, holding them up, "Here, call this our membership fee. Me and Daryl here are hunters, born and bred."

Daryl stared at him. He always said they were better off alone. What was he playing at now?

"Nice to meet you," Rick said shortly. "Do any of you have mechanical experience?"

Jim nodded, and Merle said, "I can give it a whack."

Both of them joined the sheriff in the lead, and Dale trailed them. Daryl found himself at the back, keeping an eye out behind them, sometimes stopping to pick something up or peek into a car window. He kept a close watch on the group, ready to step in and help if Merle suddenly decided to rob them. He had seen him play the nice guy a few times before, and it always ended that way.

Rick led them down the road and across the divider, to an old-fashioned RV parked precariously across two lanes. A man worked under the hood, kind of fat, with a snarling mouth and a bulldog face, just the type to buddy up with his brother. Merle joined him, and Daryl stepped into the vehicle, taking one look around and scowling. It was as ugly as sin, and it smelled worse.

He sat at the tiny table, in a booth too small for him, and laid his crossbow out. It was hot out, and hotter inside, but he sat there picking bits of pine straw out of his bow while they tried to get it running. He was sweating bullets, but it was worth it to get out of the sun for a while.

Dale came inside and mulled around, opening cabinets, muttering to himself, and then pausing near him and waiting for something.

Daryl looked up, met his eyes, and then looked away.

"You're welcome, for saving you out there," Dale said, as humble as someone could be when they were begging for gratitude.

Daryl snorted, looking out the window.

"So, you two have been traveling in the woods? I guess you have a knack for survival. What direction did you come from? Up north?"

He kept on with the questions, so Daryl had to leave the RV to get away from him. He stood in the shade, arms crossed, and listened to Merle shoot shit with the bulldog-faced man, Ed, until the RV roared to life. It seemed someone had stolen a spark plug.

Everyone loaded up, and Daryl lingered, grabbing Merle before he could get in.

"What are you playin' at?" he demanded.

Merle smiled, "Whatever do you mean, bro?"

"What're you doing with these people? Why'd you give 'em our squirrels?"

"You just wait and see, boy. You just wait and _see_."

Daryl followed him in, sitting near the back with Merle and staring out the window. He was hungry and tired, sore from sleeping in that tree, but he never let his guard down. He sat awake and alert, moving toward the front when the quarry came into view.

He knew it the moment he saw it.

It was layers of rock, eaten down to form roads to the bottom. Some big company had come in and scooped out whatever valuable stone had been here and left a giant crater in the earth. It filled with water, leaving a small pebble beach at the bottom.

He had seen a lot of pretty things in the woods, but that lake glistening in the midday sun, as quiet and pristine as anything, took his breath away.

"Here, we can park up here," Rick said, pointing out a clearing above the lip of the quarry. It was near the widest road that went down to the shore, and it had a good view of their surroundings. Dale parked the RV and cut it off, and they all sat there, unmoving, for a moment.

"We must be, what, two miles from the others, through the woods?" Dale wondered.

Rick nodded. "We need to split up. Jim, you come with me and we'll go get the others. You all scout the area, make sure it's safe."

"How many more people you got coming out here?" Merle asked innocently.

Rick hesitated before he answered, "Ten, give or take."

Ed spoke up, "Hey, Carol and the kid alright?"

Dale looked back, incredulous, "Are you only asking that now?" He looked at Rick, unbelieving. "Is he only asking that now?"

"They're fine," Rick responded shortly.

He left the RV, and they all gathered outside. Daryl squinted across the quarry, appreciating a wide-open space after days in the forest. He liked the wind, the fresh smell of the wild world. It was better than going to the city, better than staying home.

"Everybody clear on how to deal with walkers?" Rick asked.

Merle smiled, "Go for the head, make 'em real dead."

He left, half-jogging away down the road, with Jim right behind him. Daryl began to wander, holding his crossbow ready in his arms. He stepped up to the edge of the crater and looked down, whistling at the drop.

"You thinkin' of jumpin'?" Merle asked, joining him.

"Thinkin' of throwing your ass off," Daryl muttered.

"Sorry for the simpleton comment. I got a little carried away. Better they think we're some kind of stupid. You gotta keep your cards to yourself."

Daryl wanted to know what his game was, but Merle was hard to read. He always looked like he was joking, and when he didn't, he was royally pissed off. There was no in-between with him. It had been that way since he could remember – hot and cold, no exceptions.

"Well, you heard the man," Merle said, turning suddenly and addressing everyone. "Let's fan out and see if there are any dead guys walking around. Anybody wanna borrow a machete?"


	5. Shelter

**Chapter 5.**

**Shelter.**

_**Michonne**_**.**

It was raining again. Michonne closed the curtains and paced the couch a few times before she went back to open them again. It was better to see, better to know, even when the street was dark and quiet. She tried to see beyond their own yard, but the rain and the heat made an awful fog. She was driven to yank the curtains shut again, worried something sinister might see her there.

"Welcome back."

Michonne sat on the couch as the TV came back to life. It had been airing nothing but static for almost an hour now. Andre looked up from his blocks, leaning his shoulder into her knee. Diane was on again, a young, blonde anchor who usually did reports from the field. She looked different behind a desk, almost out of place. Her hair was disheveled.

She stared into the camera for a long, long moment, moving her jaw like she was chewing something, deciding what to say.

"I'm sorry, everyone. We lost communication with our mother station this morning. I can only tell you what I know right now – cell reception is down; fourteen states have stopped responding to satellite calls… we lost touch with Virginia just now and our service is cutting in and out."

Her tone was something straight out of a film, so resigned and morose.

"If you can still view this broadcast, please, get to a safe place and stay there. Stay inside. Do whatever you can to protect yourselves and your families, and-"

It cut off midsentence, back to static.

Michonne stared at the screen, her frustration and fear mounting. If had only been two days, only forty-eight hours, since the first report of some kind of _disease_, and now the news was done. It was just over. How could that be?

"Quiet," Andre commented, banging two blocks together to fill the void.

She touched the top of his head, forcing her mouth to close. "Yeah, quiet." Her mind raced. What could spread so rapidly? What could cause such devastation? Was she even safe here, in her own home? What was happening to the world outside? Could this really be the end?

Her eyes went to the window again and she shivered.

Suddenly, the front door flew open.

Michonne leapt from the couch so quickly she nearly flipped the coffee table. Andre shrieked. She grabbed the nearest object, the remote control, and held it defensively in front of her.

But it was only Mike and Terry.

Mike put his hands up, "Whoa, relax." He swung his backpack around to his front, starting to pull things out, "I got you guys some stuff, so no need to throw that." He held up a box of matches, "See? Can we relax now?"

He was too relaxed already. She let the remote drop to the floor and scooped Andre into her arms. He clung to her, staring at his father with big, teary eyes.

"You were supposed to be back hours ago," Michonne said, joining him and inspecting his bag. "Where are the candles? Did you get anything for Andre to eat? Where are the fruits? Veggies?"

"Better, I got potato chips, and spray cheese."

She scowled.

He put his hands up again, "Baby, they were all out, or it was moldy or rotten. Nobody was in the store." He kissed her cheek, a little hesitant.

She got a whiff of him. "Are you high right now?"

"No, but my boy here is," Mike said, smiling, gesturing to Terry.

Terry threw up his arms like he won something, and then teetered off to lounge in the recliner. Michonne watched him with distaste. "Did you at least go by the refugee camp?"

"Yeah, that shit is packed," Terry said.

Mike must have sensed her mood, because his tone became less carefree. He took Andre and kissed the boy square on the forehead, nodding, "You okay, baby boy? It was just me. Just me." He held the boy tightly for a moment, his eyes shut, and then answered, "It _was_ packed, but the sign said it was still open. It looks like they have food and water getting shipped in, lots of military around."

He put one arm around her, and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

He murmured, "I think we should stay here, just the four of us."

Michonne liked the way his voice hummed through his collarbone. She let herself relax, sitting on the couch with him while he tickled their son, watching them, smiling – and thinking. She had not made an argument either way, letting Mike decide these last few days how they would handle this crisis. He was the one going out in it, after all. He was also level-headed when he wanted to be.

But watching the news cut out like that had shaken her.

She put her hand on his leg, drawing his attention, "I think we should go."

He paused in his tickling, but went on, talking over the sound of Andre giggling. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Terry was doing his best impression of a throw blanket. His eyes were shut. "You should have seen how packed it was, people wall-to-wall like a can of tiny little fish."

"Sardines?" Mike wondered.

"Mm. We're better off here."

"How are we gonna protect ourselves," Michonne challenged.

"Protect ourselves from what?" Terry scoffed.

"Infected people!" Michonne wished she could gesture to the news, but the TV screen was blank. She went off of memory instead. "We all saw them, walking around out there, just looking for someone to bite."

"_We_ saw them," Terry corrected. "You should see how slow they are."

She groaned.

"Doors have locks," he went on, "And we have weapons."

"Yeah, but are we gonna stay inside for the rest of the week? For another month? We're already short on food and the plumbing stopped working this morning. Soon we'll have to go out for water." Michonne looked at Mike imploringly, "Every time you go out for food you risk not coming back – what happens when you have to leave, and it gets worse here? What happens if, god forbid, you die out there? Or get infected? What happens to me and Andre?"

Mike pulled the boy upright on his knee, staring at him seriously, and Andre frowned back at him, confused about why the game had stopped.

"If you really think we should go… we'll go."

He met her eyes, uncertain, and she leaned in to kiss his jaw. "I do."

Terry opened one eye, and then closed it again. He sighed. "I'm with you two."

"Get up then, and help me pack," Mike said, hopping up and sliding Andre over to Michonne. He stretched, showing off his stomach to her, and grinned.

She popped him in the belly and sent him off.

It took twenty minutes to pack, because they all argued about what to bring. Terry had come over with a bag when this all started, so he was already set, but he kept jumping into discussions about photo albums and priceless relics from their travels. Michonne packed three outfits for Andre and three for herself, choosing her most comfortable clothes, and Mike kept insisting he bring two pairs of sneakers when only one would fit in their shared bag.

"You've never played a sport in your life," Michonne argued.

"I spent a thousand dollars on each shoe – _each shoe_!"

"I was not present for that terrible choice and I shouldn't be held accountable for it."

He smiled, and groaned, and put the shoes back in the closet. "If those get looted, I'll cry."

Michonne plucked a fertility relic out of the bottom of the bag – a sub-Saharan goddess, carved from ivory, carefully imbued with storied symbols in rows along its entire form. She held it up to Mike, "What are you trying to do, here?"

"Come on, it's one of a kind."

"I think we have enough on our hands," she said, gesturing to Andre, who stood by her leg. "I'm gonna go ahead and veto all fertility items."

"Why not just all art? Or are you hiding something in there, too?"

"No. I packed practically."

He dug through the bottom of the bag, and his face lit up as he pulled out a tie-dyed disco dog statuette. It was small, but hefty. "Oh, oh, oh, what do we have here?"

"Your mom gave that to me the first time I met her."

"You just like the colors." He returned it to the nearby shelf, "Blanket ban on art."

Terry, meanwhile, was lounging across the upper part of their bed, his arms folded behind his head, his suitcase resting on his chest. "You two have your priorities all wrong. When society collapses, what you'll want most is toilet paper."

Michonne traded a glance with Mike. "How much did he smoke?"

"He lives on a different plane now. We just have to embrace it."

Her car was too small for the four of them and their bags, so they took Terry's SUV, and Mike opted to drive. Michonne had not been out of the house since this all started, but as she strapped her son into his seat, she got a look down the road.

It was abandoned.

It was not just quiet, not just a dreary, rainy day, but utterly empty. Her neighbors' cars were gone. Mailboxes hung open. Everything was still and untouched. She shut the door and looked over the top of the car and found the same in the other direction.

"Mike…" she said, climbing into the passenger's seat, "are we the last ones left on this road?"

"Maybe. Lots of people left yesterday." He glanced around, frowning, "And it looks like the rest bailed today. God, this fog is freaking me out."

"Crazy, man," Terry intoned from the backseat.

"Hush, Terry," Michonne said, and then to Mike, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That all of our neighbors evacuated already! Didn't that bother you? Wasn't that a red flag?"

He started driving, turning down quiet roads, onto quiet roads, into quiet neighbors, onto the quiet highway. "Sorry, I was focused on getting us supplies. I guess today was the first day I noticed it was a ghost town, since everybody stopped showing up for work."

Michonne wondered what would happen if they tried to call 911, if anyone would be there to pick up the phone. She wondered if people were being deployed to fight fires, to stop robberies, to help people out of car accidents. Terry was wrong. Society seemed to be collapsing, and all that Michonne wanted was _help_.

It was crowded at the camp.

It was set up in the parking lot and baseball field of a local school, hundreds of white tents with red crosses on them, surrounded by a thrown-together barbed-wire fence lined with sandbags. Soldiers patrolled the area, guns in hand. People stood in lines to get Styrofoam boxes full of food. Michonne got an uneasy feeling the moment she saw the place.

A man in camouflage stopped them at the gate, peering into the car.

"How many?"

"Uh, four," Mike responded.

"Names?"

He gave their names, and their occupations, and where they previously lived, and then directed them to park the car among a hundred others on the lawn by the road. Michonne zipped Andre into his jacket while the boys grabbed the bags, and they walked through a rainy parking lot, through a few more checkpoints that saw them patted down and searched for weapons. Mike was handed two adults sleeping bags and given directions to a tent.

"Row twenty-four, number fourteen," Mike said. "I think dinner is served. You guys hungry?"

Terry nodded, but Michonne shook her head. She didn't want to stand in the rain with her son for two hours, and she couldn't leave him alone.

She ended up in their tent, with four other people. She left her shoes among a pile at the door and sat among their suitcases, almost making herself a little fort, holding Andre in her lap. The white walls constantly bowed and swayed as the rain pattered down. It gave her an immediate, vicious headache. Or was that the stress? Andre stared around, fascinated by the rain beating down.

Everyone in the tent was eerily silent, strangers to each other as well as to her. Michonne said nothing to them. She laid out her sleeping bag and tried to keep her son occupied, giving him the cheese that his father had brought him. He sprayed it up his nose immediately, getting it confiscated, and crying for nearly twenty minutes while she tried to get it out. Michonne sat there eating the rest in dabs, forgetting that she had eaten nothing else that day. Andre became brave, walking circles around her munching potato chips, watching the ceiling with wide eyes.

Mike and Terry returned with food an hour later – a hot bowl of some sort of vegetable soup and a piece of bread each. Mike sat beside her, and they traded bites of his soup, but they gave the bread to Andre, and so did Terry. They sat in a ring, circling the boy, eating quietly.

It seemed Terry was finally coming down from his high. He slurped down the rest of his soup and nodded to himself, "I guess this beats another night of cheese-n-chips surprise."

Michonne snorted, "You loved my cheese-n-chips surprise, don't lie."

He smiled, "And that store was out anyway. I mean _out_. We found that stuff under an aisle divider."

Mike nodded, "It was the right move, coming here."

"You two trying to butter me up?"

Both men scoffed together.

She was suspicious, but she let it go. "I heard them say this sort of housing is temporary, until the rest of the high school rooms can be converted."

Terry perked up, "You think we might be able to upgrade? 'Cause I'm gonna be frank, these digs are a little too post-modern for me. I mean, you got your rocks over here, yeah, and you got your grass down there, right? But what about the color? What about the pizzazz?" He sat up, waving his arms around, drawing the attention of the others in the tent. "I think this whole camp could use a little less white, hospital style and a little more _Starry Night_. Maybe some nice greens over the top there, and some pink on the walls."

Michonne drug her suitcase to her, digging through the bottom, aware that Mike was growing more and more suspicious the longer she searched – and then she pulled out her disco dog and held it up for them to see, grinning.

"Oh, she did, she did," Terry crowed.

Mike laughed, "I _love_ you, I do, honest to God, but I'm gonna choke you out."

She flipped her wrists, presenting her neck, "Come on, try it."


	6. City of the Dead

**Chapter 6.**

**City of the Dead.**

_**Rick**_**.**

When the road was empty, it seemed to go on forever.

Rick took in the miniscule details. It was almost surreal, the way the grass in the ditches was starting to overgrow, the way the wildflowers were still blooming. Sometimes they passed evidence of what had gone wrong – bodies rotting on the pavement, swathed in blankets of flies, abandoned vehicles with messages written across the sides – but they never saw any other people. If he pretended the cars were just travelers out of luck, and the bodies were just misshapen deer, he could tell himself he was not afraid, that he believed everything would turn out alright.

But as they came down off the mountain, walkers roved the fields, the roads, the rivers, filling the empty spaces with their unsteady gait. Rick drove slowly past them, both minimalizing the noise the car made and letting himself look long and hard into the enemy. So, this was it. In the daylight, in groups of two or three, they seemed so innocuous.

Glenn was uncharacteristically quiet beside him, sitting pensive with his fist balled up under his chin. When walkers passed close to his window, he stared at them, too, frowning. He was usually high energy, babbling on about nothing in particular. He spent most of his time alone, roving the mountains and scavenging from nearby cabins and suburbs. Rick saw through him. He was desperate to prove his worth to the group because he was younger and smaller than Rick and Shane, but not quite a child anymore.

He had come to Rick the day before, wanting to venture back to Atlanta on his own, to see what had become of it. He thought he could take a car and do some quick looting in the neighborhoods on the outskirts of the city, maybe do some scouting to see if the military had taken back control.

Rick liked the idea, but he wanted to be there, as well. He wanted to see it with his own eyes.

"Hot today," Glenn said at last, breaking the silence.

Rick nodded. "Mhm."

"So… are you from around here?"

Rick smiled. He had to admit, he liked the kid. "Yeah. We live in King County, not far from here. What about you?"

"Atlanta – well, I used to, I guess. But my parents live in Florida."

Glenn was quiet for a while, and then,

"I'm supposed to be in college right now. I moved up here to go to GSU. Mom wanted me to study mathematics because of some dumb high test score I got five years ago, and Dad wanted me to be a doctor like my great aunt Susan. It turns out, I suck at both of those things."

He twiddled his thumbs, staring out the front window, "I never told them I dropped out. I was thinking about that when this all went down. I would have been on campus. If they came looking for me, they would start in the wrong place."

Rick was quiet.

"I know it sounds stupid, that they would be here looking for me, but that was just what came to mind." Glenn sighed. "I had all these stupid thoughts that night… like how disappointed they would be – which is a dumb thing to think about when crazy people are trying to eat you."

"How did you end up on the highway?"

Glenn took a few breaths, maybe preparing what he wanted to say,

"I was in the city. It was first thing in the morning. I delivered pizzas for this place on Edgewood, sort of close to Cabbagetown if you-" He paused, frowning, "I mean, it doesn't really matter. I was on my bike – like a bicycle, not a motorcycle – and I heard someone screaming."

He took on a haunted look, his eyes cutting to his own window, hiding his face from Rick, "I went to see what was going on."

He was quiet again, thinking, his brow furrowing,

"When I got there, she was already dead. Or mostly… there. One of those… a walker was biting into her neck, just right into her like she was… and then another one was coming out of a building behind them – I guess it heard the screaming. I called 911 but it wouldn't go through, so I just rode away, as fast as I could. I tried to go home, but it was like, as soon as the sun rose, these things were just… there. Everywhere I went there were people running out of their houses and cars driving like crazy and just… walkers… just, everywhere."

He shuddered, swallowing, and glanced at Rick before he went on,

"I wanted to help them, but I didn't know how. I couldn't do anything."

"You did something. You got yourself out of there."

Glenn cleared his throat, "I hid out in the pizza shop for a while. My boss didn't come in – no one did. Some people showed up and took the money out of the register. Eventually, I just knew I had to leave. I rode to the highway, but as soon as I hit the city limits some guy opened his car doo and knocked me off my bike. He took it. I ended up walking for hours. It was night when I was far enough away to feel like I had really gotten _away_, you know? But then the bombs started and there were people screaming again, this time in the dark. I ran again."

"And you ran into us."

"Yeah. I thought you were gonna shoot me. I could've been shot, or eaten alive, and all I was thinking was, 'there's no way Mom is gonna find me out here.'"

Rick laughed, and Glenn laughed, but the sounds died away after a moment.

Glenn spoke again, his tone darker, his eyes cast down to his lap, "It was crazy when I left, but maybe those bombs did something. Maybe they got the city under control and they have some sort of shelter set up there. We could all go."

Rick doubted it. He shrugged.

Glenn watched him quietly, and then said, "When we were in the barn, back when it first started, you said we could really be alone in this, but it never really sank in, you know? No police, no firefighters, no military, no government. Just a bunch of people out in the woods. I don't want to believe that. I really don't."

It was a daunting thought, and though it had been on the edge of his mind for the whole week, he had been keeping it carefully at bay. He did not want to imagine a world like that.

He only said, "We should have a better idea of what we're dealing with when we see the city."

He pulled over before they made it into the city, taking a small exit into a neighborhood and parking on a basketball court. Rick had not seen a walker in the last mile or so, but he was on edge. He had his hand flat over his gun as they exited the car.

Rick beheld the city beyond, a massive parking garage a few blocks ahead of them, buildings rising up toward the sky, and smoke swirling in the wind. A neighborhood sprawled out to the east, deserted, and to the west, over the highway, an industrial center lay quiet and still. It was not the city he knew. Rick circled the car, looking back and forth, uncertain and anxious about their surroundings. He felt exposed out here.

"Come on," Glenn murmured, carrying an axe on his shoulder. He was barely strong enough to swing it, but it seemed to make him feel safer.

Rick followed him across an overgrown lawn and onto a road dotted with potholes. It was sectioned off on both sides by high chain-link fences topped with barbed wire, with the occasional break for foot traffic. Glenn seemed to know where he was going. He took a left through a break in the fence and down a crooked sidewalk – it led them to an alley beside a grocery store. Rick started to feel uneasy as they circled the building. There were a few cars in the parking lot, crooked or crashed, and one parked on the sidewalk by the doors.

"Might be people here," Rick warned, grabbing Glenn by the shoulder to stop him from walking right up to the storefront. "We should take it slow."

He took the lead, holstering his gun, but keeping his hand over it. The store had glass windows, and each time they passed a set, the men looked inside. Rick saw aisles of food, swarms of flies, and blood smeared on the ground. By the time they reached the doors, which were barred shut from the outside, he was sure there were no living people inside.

Glenn put his hand on the bar that had been shoved through the door handles, "Do you think…?"

"Go on. I'll cover you."

Rick stepped back, drew his gun, and waited, while Glenn slipped the bar out and eased one of the doors open. Both of them waited, listening, watching, but nothing happened.

It was empty. Rick patrolled the aisles, his heart hammering, while Glenn scoured the store and shoved cans and dried foods into his backpack. When his was full, they switched. Rick tried his damndest to get into the pharmacy in the back, but the metal cage had been pulled down and the door was firmly locked.

"We can come back later, if we know this is locked up tight," he whispered to Glenn. "Right now, we should focus on food."

"I think I packed as much as we can carry, plus the duffel," Glenn said.

Rick looked regretfully at the things they would have to leave behind, then said, "Eat your fill."

It was well past noon when they left the grocery store, full and weighed down with a meal. Glenn pointed out the parking garage, "We can get a good vantage from there."

Rick began to feel queasy on their journey to the garage. Where were all the people? Where were all the walkers? Each abandoned street piled on his worry. Could they have all been evacuated? Rescued? Was there really a shelter nearby?

His questions were answered when they entered the garage. Rick led the way across the first level, to the side overlooking the city. He put both hands on the wall, steadying himself, as the sounds of the dead overshadowed everything.

Glenn stood beside him, a look of horror slowly spreading across his face, "Where are they?"

"Must be just on the other side of that building, or inside it," Rick said, pointing out the office building that backed up to the garage. "We should get to the top."

It was a grueling climb, too hot, too humid. Rick was drenched in sweat by the time they made it to the sixth floor. He let his pack drop off his back and wiped his face on his shirt, his eyes stinging, his lungs burning. It had been a while since he'd had to push his body like this.

When he could breathe again, he joined Glenn at the railing, leaning over to look down at a small section of Atlanta. He found the source of the groaning.

Rick had never seen anything like it in his life. There had to be thousands of them, maybe tens of thousands, mulling around, lurching, groaning, without a purpose. And the smell, which had slowly been building as they got closer, was now dizzying – rotting flesh, baking in the sun. Rick put his hand over his mouth to keep from gagging.

"How can this happen?" Glenn said to himself, his hands moving from his head, to his mouth, to his head again. "What is going on?"

Rick never could have imagined such devastation and seeing it with his own eyes rocked his world. He felt unsteady. He felt that reality had been snatched away from him. He wavered, gripping the bar for support, his knees buckling.

_All those people._

But there were people back at the quarry – living people – who needed him. Rick took a deep breath, took in the sight, the smell, and stepped away.

"Come on. We need to get this food back to the others."

Glenn looked at him like he was insane, motioning to the monstrous crowd below, "What…?"

"Hey, I need you to focus. I need you, okay?" Rick grabbed him, dragging him away from the edge, away from that terrible scene. "Can you do this?" When the kid gave him an uncertain stare, Rick said, "Glenn, I can't have you falling apart on me."

Glenn stammered for a moment, but then seemed to steel himself, hauling his bag back onto his shoulders. He was trembling, head to toe, but he was a strong kid.

On the way back, Rick let the thoughts race through his mind at last. He was right before, when he said they might be alone. If a city as big as Atlanta could fall, what chance did they stand? He hid his fear behind a scowl, tried to project as much strength as he could for Glenn, but the odds seemed stacked against them.

He spared one last glance for the city as they departed, saying, "It belongs to the dead now," as they left it behind.


	7. The Girl

**Chapter 7.**

**The Girl.**

**Daryl.**

Roy looked like a pastor that used to work in the church down the road, until he burned some old house down trying to cook up meth. He had that same slimy air around him, like he thought he was better than everyone, like he was some sort of blessing sent from God and everyone else was just trailer trash. He was a penny-preacher, a fire and brimstone sack of shit, and Daryl disliked him from the moment he met him.

"I think I might miss the ladies of the night the most," Roy was saying, flaring his blazer to let the heat out – instead of just taking the damn thing off. He licked his lips. "Let me tell you, boys, you ain't never tasted paradise 'til you seen miss Charlotte down on Cherry Ave."

His audience chuckled.

Merle was looking at him real hard. "_Ladies of the night_?" he mocked, "What are you, some kind a' rich? Where I come from, we call 'em hookers. Whores."

Daryl glanced at the forest, catching the tail end of a squirrel rushing up a tree trunk.

"I try to have a little… well, not respect. What am I looking for?"

"Chlamydia?" Daryl said.

Merle snorted.

Ed wiped a line of sweat off his meaty forehead. He looked like a dog to Daryl, like a mean old bully dog who used to live down the street and chase him down on his bike, until Merle came out and shot it. "I'll miss A/C."

"I tell you one thing you ain't gotta miss," Merle said, motioning off behind them. Carol was there, moving an armful of clothes out of their tent. She was married to Ed – for some reason. Merle waved at her, "Hey, darlin', you wanna get me a drink?"

Daryl wished Merle had not pointed her out, because Ed turned and snapped at her, "Get outta here 'til you get my pants clean, I told you already!"

His wife started, stricken, and skittered away. She was sort of plain, barely any hair on her head, dressed in plain colors trying not to get noticed. Ed scowled after her, and it made Daryl wonder why you would marry someone you hated. Sophia came out of the tent to follow her mother. She was a skinny girl who was always clutching her doll, like it was a lifeline. Daryl knew a girl like that in school, right down to the knobbly knees – she turned up dead one summer.

Ed called to her, "Hey, girl, c'mere!"

She might have been shaking, but the girl had guts. Daryl watched her approach what must have looked like a pack of wolves to her, when reason would tell her to turn and run away. He had seen the way her daddy treated her, how her mom sheltered her.

She had big doe eyes and she clutched the doll harder as she got up to her daddy.

Ed used a softer voice on her, but it was not friendly. "Why don't you go down to the lake and get some water for your daddy and these fellas?"

She nodded sheepishly and accepted the empty water jug he handed her. As she walked off, Daryl felt Merle staring hard at him, saying 'stay out of it,' like he knew what Daryl was thinking.

Merle launched off again, "You know what imma miss most? _Drugs_, man. What am I 'spose to do 'bout that? I ain't cookin' that shit myself."

For the moment, the conversation went on. Ed gave his two cents. Daryl shrugged when Merle asked whether he had a stash hidden somewhere. Roy was quiet, watching Sophia until she had disappeared down the path to the lake, and then he said, "We could get somethin' going, I bet," but he was distracted. Daryl liked him even less, because he knew what he was thinking about.

Daryl caught sight of the squirrel again. He was itching to be somewhere else. He hated listening to these assholes shoot shit about the past. Daryl slipped off his stump, grabbed his bow, and headed toward the lake.

"Where you goin', boy?" Merle called.

"Fishin'," Daryl responded shortly.

"Catch us up somethin' for supper!"

Daryl had already sweated through his undershirt by the time he made it to the bottom of the path. It wound along the quarry wall, a much faster route to the bottom than the road. He started toward the water but ended up perched on a boulder with his crossbow in his lap, eyeing the shallows. He wondered if he could nail a fish with an arrow.

It was quiet down at the bottom, even though most everyone was by the water – the women were washing clothes, chatting quietly, and some kids were playing on the rocks. Daryl did not know them all by name, but he knew what sort of people these were. He watched them like he would a herd of deer, picking out weaknesses, plotting what their next move might be.

Merle wanted to rob them.

It had seemed crazy when they joined this group, but they were accumulating supplies every day – food, ammo, weapons, vehicles – and they had little thought to guard it. Merle was taking his sweet time deciding when to strike. Daryl was indifferent. Every one of these people was soft, except maybe the cops. In a few months they would all be dead. Merle and Daryl would go back to living off the land, without a large group to weigh them down.

_Bunch of dead people, sooner or later._

Daryl slid down the boulder, tired of looking at them all. He slung his crossbow over his back, ducking around to the rocky shore.

He stopped short when he found Sophia standing there.

She was struggling to get a grip on the jug her father had told her to fill. It was too heavy for her spaghetti arms, especially the way she was trying to hold it.

"Grab it from the bottom," Daryl said.

Sophia had not seen him there. She jumped when he spoke, dropping the water and making a big splash, soaking both of them. Her big doe eyes widened as she looked at him, like she was locked in a set of headlights, like she had a pair of talons reaching out for her – or more like she was expecting him to hit her.

Her mother appeared, grabbing the kid by the arm and guiding her out of the water, nearly making her fall over. "Sophia? What are you doing?"

"Daddy wanted water," the girl responded in a whisper.

Carl glanced at Daryl, making eye contact for a split second before she dropped her gaze. "Sorry," she murmured, taking the jug, filling it, and taking her kid away. Daryl noticed a line of brown bruises going down her collar as she passed him.

He watched them go, staying decidedly neutral. Merle was right. Ed could do whatever he wanted. But he hated the way the mothers in camp looked at him, like he was out to steal their kids, like he was everything they never wanted their angels to become. His hate for them grew like a pit in his stomach, a dull ache telling him it would be best to pack it up and leave.

Daryl wandered the edge of the lake for a while, trying to force his mind to be on nothing – he thought about the weather changing, the winds, the rivers, and the group. He shook himself whenever those people came up. He had nothing to do with that lady or her kid, and he _damn sure_ had nothing to do with Ed or Roy. And why was Merle chummy with _them_, of all people? He started kicking rocks, fuming, watching them skitter across the water.

He was nearly back to camp when he ran into a pint-sized boy playing around the edge of the water. It was Carl. His daddy was the one in charge, the sheriff. But the sheriff was away.

"What are you doing here?" Carl asked.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Daryl growled back.

He was bold, like his daddy. He was one of the people who would die when they ran off with all the food, all the supplies. Daryl tried to drum up some sympathy for him, but Carl looked tough. Maybe he would make it longer than the others.

"Can I hold your crossbow?" Carl asked.

"No." Daryl walked around him.

Carl followed, "Why not?"

"'Cause I said so. Beat it, kid."

"I promise I won't shoot anyone with it. Okay, _maybe_ I might shoot a walker with it. I bet you can hit one from like a mile away with that, huh?"

Daryl ignored him, taking the path back up to the top of the quarry. Lori was watching him from the shore, talking to Carol in hushed tones – he wondered what they must think of him, two uppity ladies looking down on a mongrel.

Suddenly he was angry again.

"Can you teach me how to hunt squirrels?" Carl asked, coming out in front of him and walking backwards. "Or how to kill walkers?"

"No."

"Why not? You know how to kill 'em really good. I've seen you."

Daryl made it to the top and turned on the kid. Carl flinched. He was nothing like that mousy girl, but he was still easy to intimidate. "I said beat it, 'fore I throw you off this cliff."

Carl scowled at him, turning on his heel and heading back down the path. Lori was looking up at them, using her hand to block the sun from her eyes.

Daryl went to the woods this time, hoping to avoid seeing anyone else for the rest of the day. He hoped Merle would decide to make a move soon, because Daryl was getting real tired of being surrounded by all these people. It was like a damn circus.

He hunted until dusk, though he only brought back one scrawny rabbit to show for it. Merle laughed the whole time he was skinning it.

Supper came around and the group gathered in front of the RV, up at the top of the quarry. Rick and Glenn returned right on time, rolling up to a bunch of questions about their trip. Daryl took a seat close to the fire and turned his rabbit over on a metal skewer while the newcomers got settled.

"What did you see?" the group seemed to say, silently. "What was it like in the city?"

Rick looked wearily around at them all – all these people leaned in, waiting for him to answer. "We were only on the outskirts, but we saw a lot of them, a lot of walkers. Could have been thousands, easily, all crowded into one area."

Merle drew in a breath beside Daryl and murmured, "_Shit_."

Everyone was whispering, growing louder as fear and confusion ricocheted through the group. Daryl had the same questions they did. Were there any other people left out there? Where were the police? Where was the military? But he knew the answer to the most prominent question – how are we going to survive out here? It was simple. Most of them would die.

But that seemed like the wrong thing to say.

Rick quieted them, "Based on what we saw, there's no help coming." He had to raise his voice as the crowd picked up again, "_Nothing_ has changed from this morning. It might just be us, but nothing has changed. We still look out for one another. We still take care of each other."

Merle snorted quietly, rolling his eyes away from the speech. Daryl saw Rick cut his eyes in their direction and focused on his rabbit.

Rick went on pointedly, "If we stay together, if we stay strong, we can survive. One day at a time is all we need right now. Just one day at a time."

While the group asked questions, Merle grabbed Daryl by the shoulder, "Come 'ere."

Daryl joined him at the edge of the cliff, looking down, like the first time they had come to this quarry. He blew ashes off of his rabbit while his brother blew hot air.

"Listen at this, when the strong cater to the weak is when the shit hits the fan, little brother. Bunch of pussies, chantin' campfire songs and tryin' to pray the dead away. We doin' this soon. If I have to spend one more minute with those people, somebody's gettin' a knife in the eye."

Daryl wanted it to be over with, too. "Why not tonight?"

"No, no. We gotta send the boys away, you know? Get the sheriff and his shadow to leave for a few hours, at least. By the time they make it back, we'll be long gone, and not worth following."

Merle pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, carefully straightened it in his scarred fingers, and lit it up, giving a long, heavy sigh as he took his first drag.

"You stick with me, bro, and we'll outlive all these fuckers."

Daryl glanced back at the camp, at the huddled figures around the glowing fire, and thought, _Bunch of dead people, sooner or later._


	8. Brave

**Chapter 8.**

**Brave.**

**Carl.**

Carl slashed his stick through the air, pretending there was a walker closing in. He was dressed down in sweltering jeans and a soaked baseball shirt, a wide-brimmed hat perched proudly on his head. He wanted to be just like his father. It showed in everything he did – the way he held himself, how he squared his shoulders, how he shouted, "Get behind me, I'll protect you!" to the imaginary people cowering nearby. He lunged, slicing the walker clean in half with a single blow, laughing triumphantly as the thing fell to pieces on the ground in front of him.

His celebration came too soon. He stepped back, tripped, and rolled head-over-heels into the side of the RV. He bounced off of it and hit the ground with a solid _oomph_.

His mother glanced up from the clothesline, laughter in her eyes, "You okay?"

Carl scrambled to his feet, flushing as more eyes landed on him, "I'm fine. I was just… practicing, for if I have to protect the camp."

"I think your hat is throwing you off-balance."

Carl snatched the hat from the ground, dusting it and holding it protectively against his chest, "Dad told me to keep it safe while he was gone."

He held the hat up, examining it, making sure he hadn't hurt it. It was dark brown, with a gold rope wrapped twice around its bulk, the tassels tied in a knot at the front. It had a silver sheriff badge on it – _King County_. His dad looked like a superhero when he had it on. Carl wondered suddenly if he looked as cool when he was wearing it.

"Come over here and hold this sheet for me," his mother called.

Carl joined her reluctantly, replacing the hat on his head. He held up the edge of a sheet while she pinned the rest to the line, his eyes and his mind wandering away.

He was up here with all the girls. His dad and Shane were out patrolling in the woods, Glenn was probably running around the flaming streets of Atlanta stealing groceries right out of walkers' mouths, Dale was on top of the RV keeping watch, and every other man was down by the water, probably fishing or guarding the camp or something important. But he was stuck here, with the laundry, where his mom could keep an eye on him.

"Mom, can I go on patrol with Dad next time?"

"No. Hang this up."

Carl slung a shirt over the line, huffing, "Why not?"

"Because I said so." She glanced at him, sighing, "Because you have some more growing to do before you're ready to be out there, baby."

"But I can do it!"

"Carl-"

"You never let me do anything fun! You never even let me try!"

"It's not fun, Carl, it's dangerous. Your dad isn't out there because he was bored of being in camp. He's out there to keep us safe."

"I can do that, too!"

"How many times do we have to have this talk?" she said, becoming irritated. "You and the other kids stay in camp. You're not ready to go out there. End of discussion."

"But if Dad taught me how to fight-"

"It's not happening," she cut him off, holding the laundry basket against her hip. "Your dad is gonna say the same thing when he gets back."

Carl groaned, "But I-"

"No, we're done discussing this. You just have to trust that I know what's best."

Carl left, his head whirring. Mom had no idea what he could do. Dad was too busy all the time. Everyone he asked to teach him how to fight turned him down. He was the oldest boy in camp, and the only other kid who was his age was Sophia – and she barely ever said anything. He was so bored he thought he might die – and he _knew_ he could do this.

He sulked beside the RV for a while before something changed.

Daryl strode across camp, a tatty backpack on his shoulders, his crossbow gripped in his right hand. He made Carl think of a crazy woodsman, like a villain in a cartoon, with his spiky, unbrushed hair and his angry face. He always looked like he wanted to punch someone. He never said much, he was never around much, because he did what he wanted.

Was he hunting walkers? He sure looked ready to shoot something.

"You thinkin' 'bout leaving?"

Carl looked around, his pulse pounding. Roy was standing at the back of the RV, leaning against it, smoking a cigarette. He reminded Carl of one of his uncles – a big strong guy. His eyes were strangely red, like he had been rubbing them.

"I was just…" Carl trailed off, looking at the woods again.

"Only way to learn is to watch. Mommas never know best, I can tell you that right now." He took a long puff of his cigarette, held it, and then breathed a line of smoke. "I heard you over there. You got guts. You have this fire in you, kid, and this freedom."

Carl took a shaky breath as the idea of rebelling took root in his head. His mom was turned away, talking to Carol, and Dale had his eyeballs in his binoculars.

"If you stay close to Daryl, if anything happens, you can just call out to him, right?"

It made sense.

Carl crept toward the woods, as tense as he could be without exploding. He took another step, and another, and another. No alarms were raised when he passed the first tree, or the second.

And suddenly he was running.

Carl felt liberated. He streaked through the trees, hitting trunks with his open palm as he passed, grinning at his newfound freedom. He stopped a short distance in to look for Daryl. If he stayed close, he could watch him kill walkers _and_ be safe at the same time. Once he saw a few he could sneak back into camp and surprise everyone with his new skill.

But as he searched, his excitement waned.

Where was Daryl? He heard nothing and saw nothing through the maze of trees – or he heard too much and saw too much. Birds were chirping, squirrels were rustling around, the wind was rattling the leaves. Every tree looked a little different, but too much the same.

Suddenly he stopped.

Carl turned back the way he had come.

Was that the way?

He turned again, finding the trees all very similar. Maybe it was the other way. He turned a third time, to another unfamiliar patch of forest. His heart was starting to race. It had to be _this_ way. Carl started walking again, slow and unsteady, meandering. He scanned the trees fruitlessly.

When ten minutes had passed with no sign of the camp and no sign of Daryl, he started calling out for help. He cut himself off, though, when he remembered the walkers liked loud noises.

He would have to find his way back on his own.

He wandered for hours, growing more frantic as time went on. It was hot and his clothes were soaked through with sweat, but his pace was quick. His path meandered up and down the mountain. He thought he might have gone too high, so he took a few steep slopes, but then he was probably too low, so he climbed up a broken boulder. Everything looked the same – every tree, every bit of sky, every clump of undergrowth.

He stopped when he saw something moving up ahead.

Carl thought about calling out again. His mouth opened, the words formed, but something stopped him. He went closer, unable to make it out clearly as it moved between the trees. He thought he recognized a tattered backpack and his heart jumped, "Daryl!"

But a walker turned around.

He suddenly crashed back into the highway, back into that night, when the world was ending, and his parents were screaming and groaning dead people were banging on the car windows. His knees locked. His heart sputtered. He looked behind him, expecting his dad to appear to save the day.

But he was alone.

Carl looked at the hideous thing, the light missing from its eyes, its jaw clicking, and his body suddenly unlocked. He turned and ran, adrenaline pushing him faster, making him clumsier. He heard the walker giving chase behind him, snapping limbs, rustling leaves, groaning excitedly. Carl kept looking back, sure that he felt its hands reaching out for him, sure that it was right behind him, but every glance back made him trip, made him fumble.

While he was looking back, the ground gave way.

His ankle buckled. He rolled down a slope, down and down and down, until he _thudded_ to the ground far below where he had started. He was dazed, but he scrambled upright, snatching his hat off the ground. Up above, a limb snapped as the walker rolled down after him, bouncing around like a doll all the way to the bottom.

He was in a ravine, flanked on both sides by splintered boulders, up against a crack that seemed to go through the earth itself. Carl could not fit inside. The walker stood between him and freedom. Just behind it, the slope leading out was gentler, and daylight poured in.

Carl backed up to the crack, hoping the walker did not see him, but the moment it was back on its feet it was coming toward him.

"Help!" he screamed, scraping around for something to protect himself with. He had nothing. He grasped a root and tried to pull it free of the rocks, but it wouldn't budge. "_Help_! Please! Help! Mom! Dad! _Mom_!"

His cries became sobs. He picked up a rock from below him and held it out defensively, screwing his eyes shut as the walker came in to close the distance between them.

It hit him full force, a massive weight knocking him down and holding him against the crack. Carl screamed, but the biting and clawing never came. It just lay on him, its weight squishing him. He dared open his eyes, trying to push his way free, but the body was too heavy.

Precious seconds passed, and then he heard the voice,

"Hey, you dead?"

Carl jumped, "_Help_!"

He was there all of the sudden.

Daryl appeared over him, hauling the walker off and grabbing him by his shirt collar. He dragged Carl out of the corner and dropped him in the open. Carl doubled over and vomited up his breakfast, his head throbbing, his hands trembling. He could scarcely get his jaw to shut, let alone form a sentence, or a thought.

His rescuer crouched in front of him, grabbing his head in one big hand and turning it roughly this way and that. He looked him up and down, and huffed, "You're fine. Stop cryin'."

"I-I-I can't," Carl sobbed.

"Okay, keep crying. But follow me. I ain't carryin' your ass."

Carl scrambled to his feet, sticking close to Daryl as he picked his way up the ravine. Carl slipped a few times, but fear got him back on his feet. When they were at the top, Carl had jelly legs. He tried to keep following but fell down to his knees over and over. Eventually he was shaking too much to get back up. He whimpered, "Help."

Daryl stopped, groaning, his face as unreadable as ever. Carl could never see anything under his anger – or maybe that was just the face he wore when he wasn't thinking about it. He had a few squirrels tied to a string and slung around his neck.

"What're you doin' out here, anyway?" Daryl asked, finally having some mercy and pulling a canteen from his hip. "Were you with someone?"

"No." Carl drank most of the water. It made his stomach twist into knots.

Daryl settled down, propping his arms on his knees, "Just wanderin' off, then?"

Carl said nothing, shame welling up inside.

"You seen them things in action?"

Carl nodded, "When we were on the road that night."

"But it was dark, right?"

He shrugged.

Daryl scratched his head, knocking a few leaves out of his dirty hair. His voice was low and grainy. "You got balls of steel for comin' out here, kid, but you was one step away from bein' dinner. One bite, one scratch, and it's over. You best believe I would put you down."

He believed it.

Carl thought he should be afraid. He shuddered like a cold wind had passed through him, even though it was sweltering outside. But it was not because of Daryl, or his promise. It was like the last of his shock was fading away, and he could think again.

"I wanted to learn how to fight walkers, like you."

"Bad idea."

"Roy thought it was a good idea."

Daryl looked sharply at him, right in his eyes, and then looked away again. "You got no one to blame but yourself. You did this. If you died, it would've been your fault."

Carl swallowed, hit with the weight of those words.

"Come on. Long walk back to camp. Your folks are prolly out lookin' for you by now."

It was a horrible walk, but Carl did his best not to show any more weakness in front of Daryl. His courage gradually returned, and his stomach settled down. He imagined how it would have gone differently if he had had a weapon in the ravine.

It was quiet in the camp.

Carl was out in the open first, tensed and ready for his mom to come yell at him, but she was not there – neither was his dad. Dale spotted him from atop the RV and nearly fell climbing down the ladder. He let his binoculars swing around his neck as he approached.

"Where did you find him?" he asked Daryl, looking shocked as he put a hand on Carl, "Are you okay? What happened? Did you get lost?"

Carl buckled now that a _nice_ adult was talking to him. He felt the tears start up in his eyes, hot on his cheeks, and wrapped his arms around Dale, holding on as tight as he could. Dale said something else, a few things, but Carl could not hear him. He held on until someone pried him off.

It was his mother.

Dale said, "Daryl found him in the woods."

His mother was suddenly shouting, "What the hell did you do to him?"

Carl looked up, startled, to find her staring daggers at Daryl. He was hanging out by his brother, near their motorcycle, scowling at everyone. Merle was bigger and scarier than Daryl.

"I ain't do shit but bring him back, and you best watch your tone!" Daryl responded.

His father appeared nearby, his hand on Carl's back, "What happened?"

Carl was the one to answer, in a trembling voice. He was afraid they would start fighting. He pressed his face against his mom and said, "It was my fault. I got lost."

His mom pulled her eyes from Daryl, down to him, confused and surprised, "What? Why were you in the woods? You know you're not supposed to leave camp! What were you thinking!"

His face got hot, because all eyes were still on him. He struggled to find words. "I… I, uh…"

His father said, "Explain yourself, _now_."

"I was being stupid," Carl said at last, reluctant to admit that he had listened to Roy, that he had followed Daryl into the woods to learn how to fight walkers. "I got lost. I fell into this big hole, and there was a walker, and it almost got me, but Daryl saved me. He killed it and brought me back here."

He looked up, hoping Daryl would forgive him, but he had disappeared.

His father looked after him, frowning, "Is that the whole truth, Carl?"

Carl nodded pitifully, "Yeah."

His mom held him tighter, almost too tight, whispering, "Oh, god…"

Carl felt terrible to make his mom cry like this. He had messed up – _bad_. He shut his eyes and tried to pretend this was not happening. "I'm sorry, Mom."

"Don't ever do that to me again," she said.

"I won't. I swear."


	9. Council

**Chapter 9.**

**Council.**

**Daryl.**

Daryl ran his hands over his pants, sheering a line of blood off of his palm. His prey lay spread on a flat rock, open from stem to stern, already gutted and ready to go. It was by far the meatiest squirrel he had caught since this all started, thriving in the new world, and he had gone all the way down to the base of the mountain to get it. His traps, most of them halfway up trees, went unnoticed by walkers, and as long as he kept an eye out, he could get to his catch before any predators did. He caught something at least every other day and got his cardio in to boot.

He had his fingers deep in its flank when he heard someone coming up.

He and Merle had chosen a back corner of camp, up against the cliff, away from the forest, and Merle has his bike parked between the tent and the trees – a much smarter setup than any of those dumbasses with their tents half in the woods, just asking for a walker to sneak up. If anyone wanted to visit, they had to walk around the bike and over the collection of weapons in a pile on the ground.

Not that anyone ever wanted to visit.

Carl came around the bike and stepped carefully over a few unsheathed, dirty knives, coming to stand across from Daryl. He looked down at the squirrel and grimaced, "Did you shoot that?"

"You see a hole in it?" Daryl responded dully.

The kid was fascinated. "Can you show-?"

"No, and if you ask me one more time, you're gonna end up like this squirrel."

Carl barely flinched – after all, his daddy was standing nearby, keeping a watchful eye on his kid around the camp trash. Rick was a trained police officer and these people looked to him as the leader. Merle had his long con going, pretending to be all smiles and friendly, but Daryl was not an actor. He was just himself. He scowled when he saw Rick watching him.

But there was a reason for this, a reason he had sent Carl over here. Daryl knew it the moment he saw the kid. Rick wanted Carl to thank Daryl for saving his life.

He was right. Carl said, "Dad said I should apologize for what happened yesterday, and say thank you, for saving my life. So, sorry, and thank you."

It was hard to hear that, because Daryl knew what had really happened yesterday.

He was out hunting, minding his own business, when he heard that kid screaming. He pulled a walker off of him out in the woods, miles from camp. For a few precious seconds he thought the kid had been bit – dead, just like that – but somehow, he was fine. And then he said something about talking to Roy, that he said it was a _good idea_. Merle must have told Roy the plan, and Roy egged Carl into the woods so his daddy would be distracted. Only it was the middle of the day, and Daryl was close enough to hear him screaming.

He hadn't seen Roy since it happened, but he had a sucker punch planned for that sack of shit.

"That was a shit apology," Daryl said to Carl, starting to cut hunks of meat out of his squirrel to lay out on the rock. He squished any rogue ants with his bloody fingers.

Carl crouched down to take a closer look at what he was doing, screwing up his face at the gore, "I just wanted to help protect the group," he said in a low voice, obviously trying not to be overheard, "I wanted to keep my mom safe, like Dad does. I wanna be as brave as him."

"What you want don't change what you are."

"Can I-?"

Daryl batted his hand away, "You can wanna be grown all you want, but you're still weak, and as long as you keep actin' like an asshole, you're a liability and you're gonna get someone killed – prolly your mom, first, and then your dad."

Carl looked up like Daryl had slapped him, "No!"

"Yeah. You're gonna go wanderin' out somewhere, all big and bad, and your mom is gonna go lookin' for you, like she did yesterday. And a walker is gonna get her, or a bear. And by the time we find her body ain't nothin' gonna be left but worms and dirt."

His words hit the kid hard, but Carl did his best to hide it. He shrugged, crossed his arms, and squinted at the squirrel again. "Can you teach me how to catch a squirrel?"

_Does this kid ever quit?_

Daryl looked him in the eye. Carl had grit, even after hearing that his mom was gonna be worm food. Why was he still here? "What do I get out of it?"

Carl took that like a 'yes,' his eyes lighting up, "I'll think of something!"

"Yeah, whatever, kid."

He ran off, tripping over the pile of weapons and nearly toppling the motorcycle in his haste. Daryl saw him stop to report to his father out of the corner of his eye.

He was only alone for a moment, long enough to lay out the last strip of meat and grab the brine, before the sheriff approached. He was a long time coming, more meticulous about the obstacles than his kid, so Daryl kept working until he was standing right in front of him.

"Can I have a word?"

Daryl groaned in response.

"What you did for Carl yesterday… I want you to know I'll remember that."

He resisted looking at the sheriff, because he was afraid he might look a little guilty. He knew what Roy had done. He knew what Merle _wanted_ to do. He just grunted.

"You know, there's always room for you around our fire."

He left with that.

Daryl watched him cross the camp, where he met his wife. Lori looked over at Daryl, and then quickly away when she saw him watching her. She had accused him of doing something to Carl when he brought the kid back to camp. It was obvious what she thought of him.

He got all the strips dipped and laid out before he was interrupted again.

Merle strode up from the woods, a string of two rabbits on his shoulder. He seemed real menacing, just spawning from the shadows like that. He came over real slow, with that saunter of his, and hung his rabbits over the side of the bike.

"What'd he want?"

He had been watching. Daryl shrugged, "It was 'bout his kid."

"Yeah, the kid," Merle sighed, looking over to where Carl was playing with a stick, pretending to fight something. "Roy jumped the gun, but his idea won't bad."

Daryl said nothing.

"We gotta make a plan, get this shit rollin'. I'm tired a' these chuckleheads."

Daryl said nothing.

"Guy has a sense of human. You got a problem with him?"

Daryl shrugged.

"Use your words, boy."

"You want him comin' with us?" Daryl said at last.

"Why not?"

"Cause the guy's a shithead."

"Suddenly you got high standards?"

Daryl said nothing.

Merle slapped him on the back of the head, hard enough to make stars in his eyes, "_Speak_, boy!"

"I ain't killin' no kids," Daryl ground out.

Merle crouched down, his tone suddenly low and intense, "I ain't askin' you to."

"Would you?"

"_What_?"

"Would you do what he did yesterday?"

Merle cracked a smile and stood up, lightning himself a cigarette. "We're gonna do it at night. Ain't nobody gotta kill nobody. Get your panties unbunched. _Jesus_. Thought I raised a man, not a little girl gone pissin' 'er pants."

It might have been a lie. Merle was hard to read.

Merle took over the stone to flay his rabbits, and Daryl decided to go hunting, even though he had only just returned. As he left their campsite, he saw Rick watching him again, calculating. Daryl kept his head down. He'd had enough of other people today.


	10. What We Do

**Chapter 10.**

**What We Do.**

**Negan.**

She was a wraith swaddled in a blue cotton blanket, barely human.

"I gotta go out, baby," Negan said in a whisper.

Her eyes cracked open, a lackluster brown, barely a remnant of what they used to be. "You can go," she said again, like she had been saying for weeks. "Just pretend you'll be back."

He sure looked tougher right now, but Lucille was always the strong one. She kept him in line, wouldn't let him slip down any path but the one directly behind hers. It hurt to see her this way.

Every now and then he was tempted by her offer, catching himself fantasizing about being alone, but when the fantasy ended, he felt so guilty. Lucille wanted it to be over. He could see it. But he was too afraid to figure out who he was supposed to be when she was gone.

Negan drew her hand out of the blankets and kissed her knuckles, "You sit tight, and I'll bring back something to make you feel better, I promise. You have any requests? Steak? Frozen yogurt?"

"Mm, something salty. Crackers."

"Crackers it is."

Negan packed his backpack with two empty water jugs, a small pair of bolt cutters, and an eight-inch combat knife. He left the rest of the space for scavenging. He had set up shop in the far corner of the gym, stashing his ailing wife in the corner against the bleachers, just a few feet from the entrance to the locker rooms. She was hidden from the sun.

He crossed the gym to the first set of exterior doors, passing barely a dozen people – all that was left after two weeks. Negan knew all their faces, but not their names. It seemed that there were less people every day as families moved on or people died trying to find supplies.

He met up with three others – John, who was leading the expedition, and Arthur and Beau, a set of overweight hillbilly brothers with families in the gym. Their wives and kids were crowded around them, saying their goodbyes, wishing them luck, but not asking them not to go. In all of their eyes there was this hunger, this thirst, that pushed on through the fear, letting them let go with the hope that their father would bring something for them to eat.

Negan waited by the doors, and as soon as they were ready, he was the first one out.

It was cooler outside than it was in the gym. Negan turned his face into the first warm breeze, his eyes rolling shut in near-visceral pleasure. He spent most of his time inside, so he had forgotten that the air lacked the smell of shit, sweat, and sickness.

But in the gym, it was easy to forget how awful the parking lot was.

Negan followed the group in a zigzag between rotting bodies, their skin peeling in the violent sunshine. Each body they passed seemed to lift up and settle back down as hordes of flies ascended and returned. It was a sound like nothing else, a smell like nothing else, a scene like nothing else, but he made himself look at it. If this was going to be the world now, he couldn't be shy to it. He couldn't get sick from it.

He could either be strong or join those bodies on the ground.

"Some dead at the gate," John said in a whisper. He motioned to their usual exit, and then to a break in the fences way further down, "We can go that way."

"Just a few of them," Arthur said. He had a crowbar gripped tightly with both hands. "We can take 'em out, save some daylight."

John grimaced. He was somewhat thin, kind of weak, but he was smart and knew the city well. He caved pretty easily. "Okay. Just everybody stay together."

Negan knew this wasn't going to end well. He had seen these guys fight. It was like they were aiming for a pinata, not a ravenous monster.

He followed them anyway, hefting his backpack onto both shoulders and strapping it on. He brandished his bat. John had the lead at first, but Arthur cut in front of him and started running across the pavement, and Beau was hot on his heels. Arthur was still twenty feet away when the dead noticed him and started groaning excitedly.

It was over quickly.

Arthur hit the first one with his tire iron, but his tire iron got stuck in the skull and he was dragged to the ground. Bea shot the second one in the shoulder, then in the head, with a shiny little revolver. Negan hit the third with his bat, caving half its head, and he pulled a pistol out of his belt to shoot the fourth, missing once and then taking its ear off. He brought his bat back around and swung, the force of the impact rattling his shoulder.

"Store first, then the stream," John said in a rush as the group reformed. He led them away from the main exit, because more dead were appearing at the gate.

Negan stayed in the back on the way into the city, watching and listening like a piece of prey as they cut between stores and crossed large intersections. Chesterfield was not a massive city, but other group outings had revealed the center of downtown was full of walkers – John had been the one to spot it a week ago. He said it looked like a military operation had clashed with a big group of walkers moving through, and the military had lost. In the end, they were all just milling around, stuck forever in the places they had died.

John took them to a small grocery store on the edge of a neighborhood. Its doors were chained shut, a promising sign, and it looked like someone had tried to break in but failed.

"It looks like someone tried to get in since the last time I was here," John said, taking the bolt cutters that Negan offered, his eyes on the scrapes around the chains. "But the lock is still intact."

It was still stocked, like someone had shut it down on day one and never returned.

It smelled god-awful inside, but the shelves full of dry goods and snack foods were worth suffering for. Negan stepped around oozing pools left by thawing freezers, stuffing honey buns, bags of chips, and pork rinds into his backpack. He had his hands on the peanuts when he heard them.

"If you don't say it, _I_ will."

"Shh. We're not talking about it."

"He's wastin' all our food!"

"He's risking his life out here, same as us."

"Yeah, and then throwin' all this food down a hole!"

"It's his _wife_, man."

"She could die any minute, and my kids are starving!"

Negan had heard that conversation before, whispered in the gym, like nobody thought he had ears, like they wanted him to hear. Once he was sure Lucille had heard them, and the look on her face broke his heart. He pictured that look, and heat flooded his head.

He crossed the store and faced John and Arthur, "You wanna say that shit to my face?"

Arthur hesitated at being confronted, but then he put his hand on his weapon. "Yeah, your wife is dyin' either way, and you're wastin' food. Everybody is hungry – my kids are hungry."

Negan felt a nasty itch to reach for his gun, but he did his best to swallow his temper, "So, what do you suggest we do, Arthur? You wanna put a bullet in her head? Is that what you want? You want me to put a pillow over her face until she stops struggling? Or did you want the honors?"

"No, I just-"

"You just _what_, Arthur? You wanna stand here and bitch about it? How about you do a little less whining and a little more scavenging and your kids won't be hungry. Or, better yet, and here's a novel idea for you, why don't you just kill John here so you can have a little more food for your fatass kids? Yeah, I said it, your son looks like he swallowed the Michelin Man!"

Negan didn't wait for a response. He left the store, sure that if he stayed much longer, he would have to scratch that itch. He was rearing for a fight.

He had his own plans, anyway.

It was only a four-mile walk to Foreman's Cancer Treatment Center, a specialized hospital that he had brought Lucille to a few times before the world went to shit. He had drawn himself a map the night before after interrogating Lucille on how to get there.

He made the whole walk angry, keeping his fear of walkers at bay with his fury. Arthur thought every other life at the shelter was more valuable than Lucille. On her worst days, she was worth ten of him. And why did it matter, anyway? Negan was the one who got the food for her. He brought water and medicine for her. She wasn't a burden on anyone. It was like the moment the world ended, everyone became animals again. Push out the sick and the weak, just like that.

It had to be over a hundred degrees outside, with no clouds and no shade from the store to the hospital. Negan was drenched in sweat and exhausted by the time he made it to the Center. The building stood like a monument, mirrored windows violently reflecting the sun, plaques on the walls to commemorate some of the patients who had died or survived.

It had been evacuated early. Only a few cars remained in the parking lot and the front doors were barricaded from the inside. A few walkers wandered here and there.

Negan went straight for the front door, putting his whole weight against it and getting nowhere. He groaned, "Son of a bitch. Gotta be some kind of fire hazard. World ends and everybody forgets about fire safety." Lucille was not there to appreciate his commentary.

He was so focused on the door that he didn't notice a walker coming up until it was right on him. Negan staggered away, pushing it back with his bat and nearly dropping it in his panic. It stumbled, but then lurched toward him again. He gripped the bat tightly in both hands and swung, straining his shoulder with the force, dropping that thing like a bag of rocks.

He stood there for several seconds, blood pounding in his ears at this close encounter, and then redoubled his efforts to get inside. He was desperate, as more walkers appeared and ambled toward him. He hesitated, and that hesitation brought them closer, their insidious movements suddenly more threatening than ever. How had they gotten so close, so fast?

In his desperation, Negan ended up breaking through one of the front windows and climbing over the sill, tearing his jeans and cutting his leg on the way in. He ran straight for the main staircase, hoping the dead could not follow – even with that hope, he started turning corners, planting himself firmly in the maze of the hospital.

Once he was thoroughly lost, his run slowed into a walk, and then a meander. His heart calmed. He had not been so close to them very often, and never so many. In the past weeks he had let himself forget how dangerous they were.

He wandered the halls, taking supplies from patient rooms, nurses' stations, and offices and adding them to his collection. He kept his bat ready in his right hand, unwilling to pull his gun like he had back at the shelter. It felt like it should be a last resort. Most of the hospital was abandoned, anyway. He found a few rooms with dead or nearly-dead patients in them, and quietly shut the doors on them, and a few doors that were already shut, with heartbreaking notes left behind begging anyone who came through to leave them closed. Negan peeked into a few, sometimes finding walkers clawing at the doors, sometimes finding bodies with holes blown through their faces lying in their beds, like they were sleeping when they died.

The pharmacy was on the third floor, a little window protruding near the elevator with a metal grate pulled down over it – and signs of life inside.

Negan spied a woman sleeping on a pile of blankets on the floor, wearing a robe and slippers. She was mid-fifties, at least, with stringy, silvery hair. He crept to the door and tried the knob, finding it unlocked. He turned it slowly, gingerly, making hardly a whisper, and then slipped inside.

She was not alone. She had three companions sitting up against the far wall, between rows of pills and little prescription bags. One of them, the only man – well, _boy_ –, was half-awake and working on a crossword puzzle, and the other two were curled up and dozing. Negan had stepped into their sightline, and he stood absolutely still for several seconds, watching them, trying to locate any weapons, trying to decide what to do.

Before he could say anything, the boy's eyes flickered up to his, and he leaped to his feet, drawing a jagged knife awkwardly from his belt and brandishing it, "Hey! Judy, get up!"

Judy was the woman sleeping on the floor. She started, sat up, and gazed at Negan for a few seconds before she registered the danger. She scooted toward the boy, shaking the others awake. One of them was young, vaguely similar to the boy, but bald and gaunt, and the other was in her twenties, and she had her arms around Judy the moment they were close enough to touch. Negan picked out the dynamic immediately – a boy and his sister, an old woman and her daughter.

"Whoa, whoa," Negan said, going to put his hands up, but then realizing he was still holding his bat – and he was unwilling to let it go. It had been weeks since he had talked to strangers. "I'm alive, see? I'm not here to hurt you."

The boy didn't lower the knife, but his voice betrayed relief, "Jesus, I thought… I thought…"

"I know. Just breathe. I thought _you_ were one of them, so I was being a little sneaky. I apologize." He was lying, but only a little. "Get some deep breaths in there, kid. I'm Negan."

"Jeffrey," the boy responded, gesturing around, "And this is my sister, Fred, and this is Judy and Delia." He looked like he wanted to sheath his knife, but he held onto it, like Negan held onto his bat. He had enough sense to know that there was still danger.

"What do you want?" Judy demanded. "We don't have much food or water, not anymore."

Negan got the sudden impression that he was not the first person who had found them here. He tapped his backpack, "I got my own. I came here looking for medicine." He pulled a list from his jacket pocket and held it out for them, "My wife, Lucille, has breast cancer, and she ran out of the meds the doc gave her when this all started. I just need the stuff on this list."

Judy seemed to soften at that. She got unsteadily to her feet and came over, taking the list and reading through it. She gave it back. "We don't have that much, and Fred and I need it."

He quelled a bolt of frustration, "Can you spare something? Just enough to travel to the next town?"

Judy retreated, leaning heavily against the wall when she arrived, and her daughter surged up to hold her. She shook her head, though she at least had the decency to act like it hurt her, "I'm sorry. You need to look somewhere else."

Both of them knew that the 'somewhere else' was probably too far, and that he would die on the way. Was that how the world worked now? Somebody laid claim on something, and that was the end of the story? Negan stood his ground, stood there, thinking, and he saw them start to tense up. What were they expecting him to do? What was he supposed to do? He needed those meds, and the only thing stopping him was this little boy and his knife.

"Please," Negan tried, his eyes on Judy, "I have to bring something back. She can't eat, she can barely drink. She's in a lot of pain."

"I'm sorry," Judy repeated, firmly this time.

Fred looked sadly at Judy, "Can't we just give him some of it?"

"We can spare some," Jeffrey said hesitantly.

"No. I'm so sorry, but no," Judy said, resolved.

He tried again, "You have enough here for months, maybe years." But the woman did not budge, and the boy looked on nervously.

Negan did not make a choice. It just sort of happened.

He grabbed his bat with both hands, crossed the blankets, and brought the broad end across the boy's shoulder, knocking him flat on his stomach in one resounding blow. The women cried out as he crumpled, but Negan held the bat threateningly, grabbing the kid by the arm and dragging him out into the open. He pointed at him.

"I want half of what you have, or the next hit breaks his head."

Judy scrambled to divide the drugs while Fred, the sister, cried softly against the wall. Negan stared intently at the boy, determined to block out what he was doing, but then he realized it was the same as the parking lot. If this was the way the world was going to be, he might as well face it. He looked at the girl, sympathy surging through him.

It was easy to hit that kid, _hard_ to see it.

She slid the drugs to him in a duffel bag. Negan crouched and picked through it, eyes on the women, until he was satisfied he had what he needed. He put it on his shoulder and stood, taking a few steps back so they could retrieve the boy.

"I'm sorry it had to be like this," Negan said, genuinely. "But now we can share, like civilized human beings."

Judy glared at him, "They're ours! We need them."

"What did you do, piss on 'em?" He opened the door, stepping onto the threshold, still unable to pull away from the scene he was leaving behind – a boy facedown on the ground, unmoving, as his sister cradled him. He said, "I'm sorry. I hope you make it. I really do."

Negan left with a lump in his throat. He was condemning them to die, he knew he was, but what else could he do? He wondered what would happen when the meds ran low – would Judy give up her half to let the young girl live, or would she hoard it and condemn Fred to die? It was a deep question, one that nagged on him all the way back to the high school.

He came in alone, immediately aware that the others had not come back yet. He had gone by the stream to fill his water jugs and saw no sign of them. Their families looked up hopefully as he crossed the gym, but their eyes slid back to the ground as he passed without a word.

Lucille was asleep.

"Hey, baby doll, I brought you something."

She stirred, but only just. Negan hauled her up into his lap and crushed the pills for her, slipping them into a cup of applesauce he had been using to give her medicine for the past week. She grimaced as the spoon touched her mouth and gagged when he tried to force her to swallow. It went down in the end and she relaxed against him.

Negan sat there, holding her like a child, thinking about that boy in the hospital.

"Did you see the doctor?" Lucille asked faintly.

"Yeah. She told me what to do, gave me some stuff. Give it a few hours and you'll feel a little better, and then we can try the next pill. I got you some crackers."

She nodded.

Negan was glad his face was behind hers, so she couldn't see the tears in his eyes.


	11. Breathing Room

**Chapter 11.**

**Breathing Room.**

**Carol.**

Carol had nothing but nightmares.

She stirred an hour or so before midnight, squeezing out of a tiny hole in their tent and standing as still as she could in the clearing. Sometimes she would go out in the yard back home and stare at the sky. She was never sure what she was looking for, only that she had never found it.

It was cooler out, but the ground was still hot on her feet. A cold wind was blowing through camp, bringing in a storm.

She meandered through the darkness, using the meager light of the moon and the smoldering remains of their campfires to guide her. She went toward the cliff first, but it was too dark to see the lake below. And the woods were inky black. Carol could not make out anything beyond the first line of trees. Crickets chirped and frogs gulped, but nothing large stirred.

Carol ended up at the RV, her hand on the ladder. Andrea and Amy would be sleeping inside, so she tried to be quiet on the way up.

She peeked over the top, and Dale looked over, frowning, "Is it midnight already?" It was dark enough to obscure his expression, but not the snowy glint of his beard.

"Not yet, sorry," Carol answered in a whisper, going to sit beside his lawn chair. She stretched her legs out, glad the metal was still somewhat warm. "I was just taking a walk."

He smiled. He was a kind man. "Well, I guess that's allowed. Got a lot on your mind?"

Carol shrugged. She did, but none of it was up for discussion. Her problems were private, between her and her family. "How do you keep watch in the dark?"

"I mostly just listen at night," Dale admitted. "I like this shift because you get to watch the moon ascend, but tonight the damn thing is behind the clouds. You know, I had a telescope when I was a kid, and I could spend hours just staring into it."

She followed his eyes up to the sky, where dark clouds were rolling over the moon, periodically hiding it from view.

Dale spoke, his tone reverent, "The true joy of the moonlit night is something we no longer understand. Only the men of old, when there were no lights, could understand the true joy of a moonlit night." He smiled at Carol, "Yasunari Kawabata. He was a Japanese novelist. His writing was lyrical – kind of fitting, don't you think?"

"It is."

He sunk into a thoughtful silence, gazing upward for a while.

"What did you do, before this?" Carol asked. She hated the silence.

He smiled – a smile like he knew that she was looking for a distraction. "I did a lot of fishing, some bits and pieces everywhere, really. But when I was a young man, I was in the army. I was a pilot." He gestured upward, "I mostly flew at night, when all you could see were dots on a radar. Once you get over the fear of crashing into some invisible mountain, you get addicted to the freedom. It feels like that, like falling."

Carol said, "My father was in the Navy."

He allowed another thoughtful silence, and then said, "You know this RV is sort of new to me. I bought it two years ago, on a whim, and then I made all these plans – without consulting my wife, always a wise move." He smiled and cleared his throat. "We were going to travel around the country together, you know? Sleep where the gas runs out. But she died before we could go anywhere. I was heading off on my own when this all happened, and now the RV is sort of a centerpiece for our camp. It's weird, how things end up."

Carol was surprised he was so open with her, but the silence of the night seemed a warm companion for conversation. She almost felt safe enough to voice her own thoughts. "When I thought Ed was gone I… I had never thought about what my life would be without him. We married young. I was seventeen."

Dale nodded thoughtfully. "What about you? What did you do before all this?"

"I was at home with Sophia for a while." Carol realized suddenly that she had not done much, aside from raising her daughter. Her life could be summed up in just one sentence – she was a mother. She was satisfied with that. She also realized she had not had many friends since she got married, and the only people she had been able to talk to through the long years were her husband and her daughter.

It was thrilling, to think of the conversations she could have.

Dale took on a wistful tone, "We wanted kids, my wife and I, but it just wasn't meant to be, I guess." He looked over, smiling so the whites of his teeth showed in the night, "You know, the world is changing. If you ever wanted to remake yourself, be someone else, now would be the time."

Carol was curious, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

"I should get back to Sophia."

"Right. Of course." Dale saluted her, "I'm up here most nights, if you ever want to talk."

Carol left the RV reluctantly, taking her time navigating through camp. She laid down beside Ed on their double cot and stared at the ceiling, drawing patterns with her imagination.

He was scowling in his sleep.

She tried to believe what Dale had said, but the more she thought about it, the scarier it was. Her life was never going to change because of its fundamental truth – she was a mother. She had to look after her daughter, and there was no way she could do that alone, _especially_ now that the world was changing. He could change his life all he wanted because he was alone.

Carol felt guilty it had even crossed her mind.


	12. Someone Else

**A/N: In this chapter, we will focus on Andrea. I did not like the way this character was portrayed in the show, so she will be written a little differently here and with an altered backstory. I'm still not sure if Andrea will be a 'main' character for this story, but I had fun writing this. I think her character could have been great.**

**XxX**

**Chapter 12.**

**Someone Else.**

**Andrea.**

Andrea lay in the back bed of the RV, watching the only window with steady blue eyes. It was the only vision of the outside world, emitting a soft glow that sometimes faltered, like someone was waving a flashlight in the distance. It was the middle of the night, and like every night, she was not sleeping. Her mind wandered, reluctant to shut down completely, always drawing images of walkers and blood to the forefront if she dared to begin to rest.

Her dad used to have an RV like this one. She was thinking about that tonight. She used to run straight for the door when he got back from his fishing trips and he would throw it open just before she got there and wrap her up in a hug. It was ironic because she had been running for her life, dead people lurching after her, when she had spotted this RV on the highway. Dale had thrown open the door to let them in, and for a moment, in her panic, she thought she saw her dad standing there. It could have been him, because she had not _seen_ him die. But the reality was grim and thinking about that RV made her sick to her stomach now.

It had been over two weeks since Dale had rescued them, and every night she lay here with her arms folded tightly around herself, trying to hold the fear in, thinking through the silence.

But that night, she heard voices.

Carol had come to visit Dale on top of the RV.

"What about you? What did you do before all this?"

Andrea tuned into the conversation, suddenly curious. Carol was saying that she was a housewife – which is what Andrea had expected. She was one of _those_ women who stayed home to raise the kids while her asshole husband did whatever he wanted, with whomever he wanted. Andrea was unhappily reminded of Jacob and a scowl slipped onto her face.

Dale responded, "We wanted kids, my wife and I, but it just wasn't meant to be, I guess."

He liked to talk, but he never talked about his family. Andrea had brought it up once when she found a picture of him and his wife in the RV, but the look on his face was enough to keep her from ever mentioning it again. It was common courtesy in the camp not to talk about anyone who was not there – family members, friends – because they were probably dead. Everyone knew it, and most of them accepted it and dealt with it on their own. Families stuck closer together. Friends never left one another alone. But some of them had come to the camp without anyone. Dale was like that, and so was that kid, Glenn, and Jacqui, and T-dog, and Jim, and Roy – Andrea suddenly wondered how they did it, how they managed it.

She had her sister, but they didn't talk about what had happened. Amy was the spitting image of their mother, so every time the girl smiled, Andrea was reminded of what she had lost. She saw the blood again, felt the grief like a punch to the gut.

Dale went on,

"You know, the world is changing. If you ever wanted to remake yourself, be someone else, now would be the time."

His words made her wonder if the world had really ended out there, if Rick Grimes was right about no help coming. If there was no military, no government, no police force, then they were really, truly alone out here. If she wanted to start over, to become someone else, she could do it now. Amy had not seen her in _years_, and no one else in this camp knew anything about her.

She could forget about her life, her mistakes, her regrets.

Andrea curled up on her side, wrapping her pillow around her head to block out their conversation. She was looking into the dark hall of the RV now, where the soft light of a glowstick illuminated the floor. Amy was looking at her from the table bed. Andrea stared for a minute to be sure she saw it right, and her sister blinked, vibrant blue eyes turning a little green in the weird light.

"Hey, you okay?" Andrea whispered.

"I can't sleep," Amy responded, her voice husky. It sounded like she had already been asleep. She reached down and toyed with the glowstick.

She was a grownup – _barely_ – but she was still afraid of the dark.

"Nightmares?"

Amy nodded sullenly.

"Do you want to sleep with me?"

It almost seemed like she would turn the offer down, but she rolled out of bed suddenly and crept down the hallway, climbing over Andrea so she could sleep by the wall. She pulled the covers up to her neck and stared at Andrea, like she wanted to say something.

"Practicing sleeping with your eyes open?"

Amy smiled, but the expression slid off of her face too quickly. "I had a dream about college. I was on campus and then…"

It was the way that every nightmare ended nowadays.

"Well, the way this is going, you won't have to worry about flunking out. You can just tell everybody you graduated."

Amy looked wounded, "Who told you?"

"Oh, just everybody I talked to. Your first mistake was telling mom. You know she-" Andrea cut herself off, but the warmth of remembering her mother had already flooded through her, followed by a fresh wave of grief. She cleared her throat and tried to keep what she was feeling out of her face – a talent her father had passed on. "Get some sleep."

It was like she was eighteen again, lying in bed that last night before she went across the country to go to school. Amy had a bad dream and crawled into bed with her. Andrea remembered being so frustrated with her but letting her stay because it would be a while before she came home.

It ended up being a year before she saw her again.

XxX

Andrea rose at dawn, because there was sunlight pouring through the little RV window, right onto her face. It was already starting to heat up and she was sticky with sweat. Amy had taken all the blankets and cocooned herself, while Andrea lay spread-eagle across the flat sheet. Everything ached, like she had run a marathon in her sleep, and her head was throbbing.

A typical morning.

She left Amy sleeping and crept past Dale, who had passed out in the driver's seat clutching a pillow and drooling.

Camp was bustling: Shane was striding across her path, nodding a hello as he passed; Lori was with Morales by their tent, whispering with him; Carl was dragging himself from their tent to the fire, while Sophia scurried behind her mother to join him; Glenn was hauling a backpack onto his shoulders, arguing quietly with Jim about how to read his map. Andrea felt a little overwhelmed at first, standing dumbly at the foot of the RV steps, yawning, until Lori came over to her.

"Louis is sick."

"How bad is it?" Andrea asked, looking pointedly around them, "Is someone going on a run?"

"He has a cold, I think. It could be a sinus infection. I'm not sure." Lori crossed her arms tightly, glancing back at their tent, "But he looks pitiful. He has a fever. I think Glenn is going out for medicine, if they can't find any."

Andrea knew who 'they' was immediately, because Shane reappeared with Rick, and they had a bag of medicine with them. Lori touched Andrea on the shoulder and rushed to the tent with them.

It was too early for all of this.

Andrea yawned and slumped down on the step.

Dale pushed the door open, gently nudging her away, and she groaned as she got back to her feet.

"Busy morning," he commented. He had deep circles under his eyes from taking the sunset to midnight watch, and not sleeping in. But he always did that. "What's going on?"

She relayed the information she had, and added, "I think the alphas have got it."

"Alphas, huh?"

"Might as well be."

"I guess." He heaved a sigh, "What are you up to today?"

She answered without thinking, like her brain had chosen at random, "Fishing."

"Want some company?"

"No. I wanna be alone for a while." She realized her tone was a little harsh, and Dale was frowning at her rejection, "We can team up next time."

"Okay. You know where to find me if you change your mind."

She made her way to the water alone, feeling suddenly free. But her desire to actually fish waned as she paddled into the middle of the lake. She toyed with the rod, occasionally spinning the boat to view a different shore, slowly but surely driving herself away from the camp until it was just a little blip in the distance.

It was nice to be alone for once.

She used to fish when she was younger. Her dad taught her. He was a dictator on the boat, correcting every slight wrong, even if she had simply misnamed a type of tackle. She liked the idea of being with him out on the water with him and she asked to go every time, but once they were out there, she regretted it. What did he want from her, anyway? When they argued, she would always say she could just go get fish from the store if she wanted it so badly. He would ask her what if she had no money, or what if the store was closed. She had spent her whole life with this skill that didn't interest or benefit her until now – until the world ended.

It was almost like he knew.

Andrea sat up again, sighing, and prepped the pole. Before she cast, though, something glinting on the shore caught her eye.

She sat waiting until it glinted again.

It was just a patch of overgrowth leaning into the water, far enough away that it could have just been the sun reflecting on the lake – but for some reason it held her interest. She started paddling, leaving the deep water and coming up on the shore.

She forced the boat into the reeds, and for a moment the glinting evaded her.

And then a walker lurched out of the shallows.

Water poured off of him in waves.

His clothes were caked with mud, making him look like a monster.

He crashed into her boat and fell into it, clawing his way over the seat toward her.

Andrea screamed, throwing herself backward and flipping out of the boat. She hit the ground in the shallow water and raced for the shore, thrusting through the cluttered reeds, her heart thrashing in her throat. She forced her way through a briar patch, the thorns raking her face, and jumped up the steep bank. The walker had flipped himself out of the boat and he was floundering toward her in the shallow water, tripping over the mess of reeds she had left behind.

She paused there on the shore, staring at it, adrenaline telling her to run – but where?

She was on the opposite end of the lake. Either direction would take her back to camp. She started to the right, stopped, and went to the left, but indecision froze her again.

She was going to lead it back to the others.

It made it to land, dragging itself onto the bank and finding its feet. Andrea made a wide circle, leading it around, trying to buy herself time to think. Her heart began to slow as she got a better look at it – not a monster, but something that used to be a man. He was not very fast, or very smart. She led him into a few bushes, and he crashed into them before he figured out he could go around.

She forced herself to swallow her terror and _think_.

The gun.

Andrea had left her gun in the boat. It was usually on her hip, but whenever she sat in a boat she set it on the seat beside her, like her dad used to do.

She made another circle, wider, luring him away from the shore, and then doubling back. She pushed through the reeds again, waded into the water, and grabbed at the boat with shaking hands. It was right there. Her hands trembled around it.

The walker was in the water. He splashed loudly toward her.

Andrea turned, flicked the safety off the gun, and backed deeper into the lake, hesitating again at the distinctly human shape of her target. But there was no choice.

She shot once, hitting it in the face.

The walker collapsed in the water, lying facedown for a moment on the surface and then sinking to the bottom. Andrea stood absolutely still, holding the gun ready, her skin blazing hot as the adrenaline spiked and began to ebb.

She was okay. She was fine.

She dragged the boat in a wide arc around where the walker had sunk, getting it up to the shore so she could climb back in. She sat there, soaking wet, the gun on the bench beside her, and rowed back across the water. When she was only a hundred feet from shore, she dropped her paddles and vomited over the side.

"Hey, you alright?"

She looked up sharply, finding Rick and Shane on the shore holding weapons, waving to her. They had walked up to their knees in the water.

Andrea gave them a thumbs-up but said nothing. She thought she might cry, or vomit again, or both. Her dad always said there was no crying allowed on the boat.

_I bet Jacob would have been walker food_, Andrea thought. She forced herself to pick up a fishing rod and bait it, working through trembling hands. Maybe that was what Dale meant. Andrea had always had steel in her, from how she was raised and who her father was, but she was never pushed this far before. Her life had been challenging sometimes, but never in this way.

She held her head high and kept her back straight, pretending she was unfazed.

And maybe pretending would make it real.


	13. The Line

**A/N: I've always thought that Shane would have gone a little crazy with or without what happened with Lori. He seemed to be ready and willing to let his morals slip away when the walkers appeared, and in this story that slipping is noticeable. When things are going sort of okay, do you make bad moral decisions to keep them that way? Or do you sacrifice some things in the name of goodness? Shane faces that dilemma in this chapter.**

**XxX**

**Chapter 13.**

**The Line.**

**Rick.**

It was midday when Rick found the first sign of another group of survivors. He signaled to his companions to stop, watching through the trees as five walkers fed on a fresh body – so fresh that it was still bleeding, occasionally convulsing. On the other side of this gruesome scene, another pair of eyes was watching, wet with misery. It was a man. He looked ready to charge out.

Rick saw where this was going immediately.

He tipped his hand, pulled a machete off of his belt, and stood up, just as the other survivor jumped out of the bushes and screamed, wielding a metal pipe. He was skinny, gaunt, sunburnt, in no shape to be fighting anything. But there were others behind him, a woman wielding a hatchet, and a teenager who seemed reluctant and afraid.

His shout alerted the walkers and they stirred at the sound, turning toward the three survivors.

"Shit," Rick cursed. "Hey! Hey!"

He charged out of the trees, shouting, "Hey, over here! Hey!" He streaked toward them, arms pumping, catching the first walker in a full-force blow across its skull. His machete got wedged in its eye socket and he was nearly dragged down as the body collapsed.

Shane appeared behind him, bashing the second walker with a bat, stopping it just a foot away, and then kicking it so it rolled over the first one. Morales was right behind him. He hit another walker with a pipe, shouting furiously. Rick freed his machete and stumbled over the dead walkers, putting his machete through the skull of the last one before it could reach the three newcomers. It fell to the ground between them, leaving them standing there, looking at each other.

When the danger was gone, the small group fell upon their dead companion. It looked like another teenager, but the face was already gone. Rick stepped away, glancing meaningfully at Shane, hoping he grasped the gravity of this situation.

For a little while, no one said anything.

"I'm sorry about your friend," Rick said. "I'm Rick, and this is Shane and Morales."

"What do you want?" the woman snapped. She was the only one who looked up at them, an intense rage in her eyes. She was like a cornered animal who chose to fight.

Shane frowned, "Uh, to save your lives?"

"We were fine," she responded quietly, looking back at the body.

Rick cut in before Shane could respond, "Maybe you were, but we're the helpin' sort. Listen, we have a camp with more people, more survivors. We have food and shelter, and protection."

"We have our own camp," the woman responded curtly, not turning. Rick was talking to the back of her head.

"Audrey," the man said, finally peeling himself away from the corpse. His voice was trembling, and tears streamed down his face. "I'm sorry. I'm Michael, and this is Audrey, and Claire," he gestured to the teenager, "and… Duncan."

"I'm sorry," Rick said again.

"Our camp isn't far. We'll be fine." Michael pulled himself to his feet, wiping his eyes on his shirt. "Audrey, can you give me a hand, please?"

She scowled, "Leave him here."

"I can't," Michael whimpered.

Audrey shook her head, looking away cruelly. Rick thought he saw tears in her eyes.

"We can help," Rick offered, looking again at Shane. He was nodding. "We can help you bury him. Pick him up on three."

It was a short walk, made longer by the body the men carried between them. Rick studied the new people as they went, noting that Michael had a distinct and almost crippling limp. Claire was quiet, terror living permanently in her eyes. Audrey was the strongest of them, appearing young and healthy, but it seemed that Michael called the shots. He wondered who they were to each other – if they had just stumbled together, or if they were a family, or friends, or coworkers.

Their camp was a clearing edged up to a boulder. It was badly exposed. Rick set the dead boy down and got a look around, his mind suddenly alert. It was not a normal camp. There was a pallet with a tarp over it, laden with supplies – freeze-dried meals, water jugs, medicine, tents and sleeping bags. And there were tents set up all around, with little overhands with chairs beneath them. And the ground was worn down where many feet had once tread.

But there were only three of them here now.

It was a ghost town.

Audrey must have seen the look on his face. She said, sadly, "We're all that's left."

"What happened to everyone?" Shane asked, as if the answer were not obvious.

"A lot of them came through, like a herd of… infected." Michael retrieved a shovel and started digging off to the side, speaking while huffing for breath, "It was the middle of the night."

Rick could only imagine the terror they must have felt, being suddenly overrun. He swallowed, shaking it away. "We have a group. You three are welcome to join us."

"We're fine on our own," Audrey said. She seemed confident in herself, but the anger in her tone made him think she was rejecting his offer out of pride.

Morales nodded toward the pallet, restless. "Do you guys have antibiotics?"

"None to spare," Audrey answered quickly. Her expression changed, and suddenly Rick realized she was feeling threatened.

He kept his tone light and friendly, and pleading, "We have a sick little boy back at our camp. His name is Louis. He's eight. He has a sinus infection and a bad fever. We were out today heading down the mountain to look for medicine – that's why we ran into you."

Michael looked at Audrey, "We could-"

"We're not a charity," Audrey interrupted.

"We saved your lives," Shane said hotly.

"We're grateful, we really are," Michael said, reluctantly going along with what Audrey had decided. He stopped making eye contact with them. "But this stuff is all we have. It's all we have."

"We don't want the whole pallet, just some pills for a sick kid," Shane insisted.

"And I said no," Audrey responded flatly.

Shane snorted, "Yeah? And what's stoppin' me from takin' it?"

Her hand moved subtly toward her hip, and Shane rested his palm on the hilt of his gun. Rick stepped between them, "Whoa, hey. We're not doing that. That's not who we are." Both of them were hotheaded, ready to lock horns. He said, "It might be safer for all of you if you came back with us. We can offer you protection. We have people to keep watch, people to look for food. But it's your choice. It's completely your choice."

"I said no," Audrey said again, scowling at Shane, who returned the look from behind Rick. "We don't want to join your softball team and we're not giving you any of our shit. So fuck off."

Rick really, really, _really_ wanted this to go differently.

Morales said, "What about Louis?"

"We'll keep looking," Rick said, suddenly wanting to get far away from these people and their pallet of supplies. It was rough enough having to fight the walkers – he didn't want to start fighting other people, too. But Shane seemed as ready as ever. "Come on. Let's go."

He led a reluctant Morales away from the camp, but they didn't get fifty feet before Shane stopped.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"We can't take whatever we want," Rick said hotly, allowing himself to be angry now that it was just the three of them. "It's not who we are. What right did we have to-?"

"You keep saying that," Shane snapped, "But was any of that theirs two weeks ago? Huh? Was any of that theirs before this started? You think just anybody can just claim anything now? We got a sick little boy back there, and who we _are_ is people who ain't lettin' him die while those stupid assholes sit on enough supplies for twenty people!"

"We got no _right_-"

"Oh, you wanna talk about rights now? What right-?"

Rick cut him off, "What do you want me to do, Shane? You wanna attack them? You wanna take their stuff? Do you think they won't fight back? Huh? You wanna hit that little girl? And if we do take it, and by some miracle nobody gets _shot_, do you think they won't retaliate? What if we put our people in danger? If they came back at us we would have to fight them, maybe kill them. Is that what you want? Is that what we do now?"

His words drove Shane to silence, and the other man scowled at the ground.

"Is that what we do now?" Rick repeated quietly, "We take shit, and if people don't like it, we kill them? Is that who you wanna be, Shane?"

Morales looked miserable, "Louis needs those meds."

"I know. I know that." Rick put a hand on his shoulder. "We're not stopping until we find some antibiotics. We're not going home without them."

"If we're moving on, let's move on," Shane said, his tone suddenly neutral.

Rick looked his friend in the eye – his best friend – and for the first time in his life he felt a vain of distrust wiggle into his heart. Did he even realize he had crossed a line? Was he really willing to hurt innocent strangers to save Louis?

Was the new normal to have the strong rule, and the weak fade away?

It made Rick wonder how far he was willing to go, as well. Would he be making the same arguments as Shane if this were _his_ boy who was sick?

He didn't want to think of it.

He didn't want to think of those people in that camp ever again.


	14. The Hand

**Chapter 14.**

**The Hand.**

**Carl.**

Carl crept around the back of the RV, his heart pounding. Every second counted, every footstep, every ragged breath. If he was heard, it was over. He was dead. He glanced behind him and scanned the trees as his eyes shifted back to the front, his world in hyper-focus. Where _was_ she?

He rounded a corner and Sophia burst out at him, her hands out like a groping walker. Carl jumped backward and stumbled, landing on his butt and laughing. Sophia giggled.

"How are you so _quiet_?" Carl demanded, a little miffed he hadn't heard her a _third_ time. He ignored the hand she offered to help him up and jumped to his feet.

She shrugged, "Maybe you're deaf."

"I get to be the walker this time," he grumbled.

Sophia looked a little uncomfortable with her new role, but she ran off anyway. Carl sat down and shut his eyes, counting up to thirty. His mind wandered, though, and he kept losing track of where he was. He was mad that he was so bad at avoiding Sophia. He had actually been out there, alone with the walkers.. He should be the best at it. But then again, Daryl had been there to save him. Carl wondered if he would ever be able to make it on his own.

He hopped up when he thought it had been long enough.

He went off through the camp, lurching around. Sometimes the adults found their game a little dark, but it was one of the only respites from the boredom of camp, so his mom let him play. He searched for her for more than five minutes before he heard her giggle behind the RV – the same place he had tried to outsmart her. He was determined she would lose this time.

Carl got on his belly and crawled under the RV, watching her feet shift around the front tire. She was looking for him. He was as quiet as possible, carefully shifting his body across the grass, pausing when she seemed to be listening. He came out behind her, lurching to his feet and grabbed her by both shoulders, letting out a triumphant, "Gotcha!"

She squealed too loudly and jumped away from him, grabbing her left arm.

Dale looked over the top of the RV, "Hey, you okay, sweetheart?"

Sophia and Carl both looked up, surprised, having forgotten he roosted there most days. Sophia still seemed a little freaked out, so Carl answered, "We were just playing."

"Maybe take it easy," Dale suggested, and his head disappeared.

Carl looked more closely at Sophia, who was still holding her arm. "I didn't grab you that hard," he said, defensive. What if she told his mom he was playing too rough?

She had wide eyes, blue like the sky, "It's just hurt already, is all." She peeled up her sleeve, and four or five inches beneath the fabric she had a hand-shaped blackened bruise on her shoulder. "I forgot it was there."

"How did you get that?" Carl asked, thrown by how ugly it was. He got a bruise like that once when he fell off his bike onto a tree limb.

Sophia pulled her sleeve back down and crossed her arms. "I ought to get back to my mom. She might need my help with the laundry."

"But-"

"We can play again later," she interrupted, and left him there.

Carl was left alone behind the RV. His mind revved, grasping for an explanation. He remembered assemblies at school where teachers would talk about how sometimes people had mean parents, but he was more focused on the candy they gave out at the end. His father had said bits and pieces about people he dealt with in his job, and he had spoken of the Peltier family sometimes in private to Lori, but Carl was barely listening.

He knew Carol would never do anything bad to Sophia – she was so nice – but her dad made him uncomfortable, and so did the people he hung out with. He reminded Carl of a snake, lurking in the grasses, waiting to bite.

Carl went to find his mom. His default place in camp was beside her. She was hanging laundry on the line by their tent. It seemed like that was all she ever did – that and make him do math.

"Hey, baby, why the long face?" Lori said as he approached. She laid her wet clothes over a basket and turned to him, holding her hands out and catching his face in her palms. Her hands were warm and wet, but the touch was welcome. Carl leaned into it.

He looked up at her, "Can I talk to you about something? Somewhere private?"

Lori's eyebrows drew down and her face softened, "Sure you can. How about you help me put the rest of this on the line and we can talk in the tent?"

Carl helped her put the laundry up, his eyes roving the camp for signs of Sophia. He saw Carol straightening things and going in and out of the Morales family tent – Louis was sick – but no sign of Sophia with her. He realized that, oddly, after only a few minutes apart, he missed her.

He followed his mother into their tent and flopped down on his sleeping bag, trying to decide how to say what he wanted. His mom waited patiently, sitting on a cot, her hands folded.

Finally, Carl asked, "Why is Ed so mean to Sophia?"

Lori's face dropped immediately, "Why do you think he's mean to Sophia?"

"She has a bruise on her arm, like a hand," Carl said, putting one of his hands on his opposite shoulder to demonstrate, "Like this. I saw it when we were playing. And I just know her dad did it. I heard you and Dad talking about him, how he's a bad man."

She rested her face in one hand, taking a deep breath, "Carl… it's complicated."

"But Dad and Shane are police! Why can't they make him stop?"

"I… I wish I had a better answer for you. If this was before, if this was before all of this, it would be simpler. But everything is really complicated right now."

Carl was not happy with that answer, but Lori looked distressed. He had to push himself to keep his frustration from showing. "I guess…"

"When your dad gets back, we can talk about it some more, okay? You tell him what you saw, and he can do more than I can." She wrung her hands together, her big brown eyes a little wet all of the sudden, "Trust me, I feel the same way. That poor girl."

Carl felt his heart sinking, but he said nothing else. He slipped onto the cot with Lori and hugged her, squeezing himself into her side. He had known kids at school with tough parents – dads who never hugged, moms who always wanted them to do better – but he had never had that himself. His parents were his world. His mom was nice and good and funny, and his dad was cool and clever and strong. He wondered what it was like for Sophia, and then wished that he had never seen that bruise.

He spent a good portion of the day alone after that. He tried to talk to Daryl, only to get shut down immediately as Daryl left the camp, and then he looked around for Sophia. She refused to speak to him. He sat near her for over an hour, drawing pictures in the dirt, before he got up to wander again. He was frustrated, because his mom didn't have the answers he wanted, and no one seemed as worried about it as he was. He was mad, because he wanted to hit Ed in his stupid face for hurting his friend. And he was mad that Sophia would not talk to him.

And that anger never lessened, never faded, but he started to gain control over it.

Near dusk, the men returned from their supply run. Morales and Rick entered the clearing first, going straight to Morales' tent with a bag, and Shane came after them.

Carl went straight to Shane.

"Hey, did you find medicine?"

"What?" Shane said sharply, angrily, and then his tone settled when he saw Carl standing there. "Oh, yeah, we did. Got some good stuff. Louis is gonna be fine."

Carl debated for half a second, and then said, "Can I talk to you about something really important?"

Shane seemed restless, ready to crawl out of his skin, but his eyes were soft when they were on Carl. He ruffled his hair and nodded, leading him back a ways into the edge of the forest. He crouched down, pulling off a ballcap and digging his fingers through his dark, curly hair.

"What's up, little man? Everything alright?"

"Yeah, I just…" Carl could see the intensity burning in Shane, and suddenly he realized this was the _perfect_ time to talk to him. "Why is Ed so mean to Sophia?"

A little flame ignited in Shane, "You seen him do something to her?" he asked.

Carl was a little jarred by his voice, which had become venomous. But he went on anyway, "I saw a bruise on her arm, like a hand." He put his hand on Shane's shoulder to demonstrate and found the muscles beneath his shirt wiry and tensed. "Like this."

Shane scowled, "Did she say her daddy did it?"

"No. She won't talk to me."

Shane thought a while, examining the frayed edges of his hat. He finally said, "If you really want me to, I can have a word with Ed."

Carl jumped on that, "I do. I want you to."

"Okay. I will." Shane stood up, directing him back to camp. "Go on, now. I'll take care of it."

Carl smiled, hugged Shane, and ran back to camp, looking around excitedly for Sophia. He found her sitting behind the RV, sullenly moving the arms and legs of her doll into a sort of dance.

His excitement drained away all of the sudden.

"Hey," he said, not expecting a response.

Sophia looked up and murmured, "Hey."

"Can I play… whatever that is?"

Sophia laughed and laid her doll down beside her. "I brought some cards out, in case you came back." She pulled a deck of cards from her pocket and laid it on the ground between them. "Sorry I wasn't talking to you."

"It's okay."

Carl sat across from her and started dealing the cards, deciding not to tell her about his talk with Shane. It would be a surprise to her when her dad stopped being mean. He couldn't wait.


	15. Leather

**Chapter 15.**

**Leather.**

**Carol.**

"I don't like you spendin' all your time with them beaners' kids," he had said.

It came down like a tidal wave. It was always like that the first time, especially when it had been a little while since the last time it happened.

"Louis is sick. I was just helping them," she had defended.

She hit her hands and suppressed a sob. Strength comes from within, she told herself. God lives there, in the heart. Or, he was supposed to. Lately it felt like there was nothing living there.

"You spend more time with those fucking kids than with our kid!" he started to storm, drawing raindrops from the sky with the force of his words. A bitter voice in her head had whispered, _do you even care about that, Ed?_ "And I don't like her hangin' around that pig's kid! You put a stop to that or god damnit I will."

She had sensed her mistake before it happened, but it was too late now.

It came again, gentler this time, just waves breaking on a crumbling shore. Her hands dug into the damp soil and she closed her eyes.

"That's not fair, Ed! They're friends! Sophia likes him!"

She had raised her voice. She had sounded defiant, more defiant than she ever had. Maybe it was the woods bringing it out of her, or the fact that before Sophia had found a friend in Carl, she had been sullen and quiet all the time. Now the girl was smiling and laughing most of the day, and it was thanks to that boy. Ed was not being fair. He was not being a good father. Why did he care anyway? It made Carol mad. It made her fight back.

It brought her down to her knees in the mud, shirt torn and open at the back, with a belt whipping across her shoulder blades.

He talked between lashings, furious, but keeping his voice down,

"You gonna send that pig to 'straighten me out,' huh? Is that what you gone do?"

It was the root of it all, the reason he had even bothered coming to talk to her. She pressed her eyes tight together and tried to say, "No! I never even talked to anyone!"

Carol kept her life a secret. Ed had no reason to be this angry. What changed?

Carol groped for answers when the belt came down again. She finally slipped off her palms and lay flat on the wet ground.

Ed stopped. He put his belt back on. "You keep our business to yourself, you hear?"

Carol said nothing.

He nudged her with his boot, "You heard me." Mercifully, he didn't wait for a response. He turned and left her there in the woods, on the ground, in the rain.

It was midday, too early to pretend she was tired and needed to go to sleep. Carol formulated a dozen excuses in her head, sifting through them, trying to put concrete plans to a weathered mind. But her thoughts were all over the place. She deserved this. No, she didn't. She needed him. No, she didn't. Sophia needed a father. No, she didn't. Carol had let her family business slip to someone else. No, she didn't. Which was the truth?

Carol slowly dragged herself up to her knees, sitting back on them. She started pulling the pieces of her blouse back together, like she could stitch it out here in the woods.

And she waited for the dam to burst, but the tears never came.

She only had this anger growing deep down, circling, making the rounds, blocking the parts of herself that she knew so well and opening up new avenues. Who knew she could be angry? Who knew she could be defiant? Who knew she could want something more?

She did. Or, she used to.

Maybe she could again.

She tried a third time to pull her shirt together in a way that the others wouldn't notice, but failed. It was ruined. Ed had grabbed it by the collar and ripped a gash clean down to her lower back. She would have to go back to camp this way, covered in mud and exposed. That was the worst part.

Something crackled in the forest, and she heard a soft, "Momma?"

Carol looked up sharply, finding Sophia approaching from the direction of camp. Her little blue eyes were wide with horror as she beheld her mother. Carol quickly turned, hiding her reddened back, clutching her shirt together. "Sophia, why are you out here?" she demanded.

"I saw Daddy coming out of the woods, and I couldn't find you," Sophia said, rushing toward her. She didn't notice that Carol wanted her to stay away. She wrapped both arms around her and hugged her too tight, angering the fresh welts. "I thought… I thought…"

"You thought what?" Carol asked into her daughter's shoulder.

Sophia pulled away, teary-eyed, "I thought he had killed you!"

"_What_?"

Years of dealing with this – _years_ – and she had never heard anything that scared her so much. Carol clutched her daughter, fear making her heart race. _Killed me?_ she thought, her stomach clenching into knots, _is that what my baby thinks about?_

And then a darker thought spawned, _and what if he did?_

"Baby, I need you to do something for me," Carol said, prying Sophia away and holding her face in both hands. They were soaked by now. "Go to camp and get me another shirt, and a coat. And put a coat on yourself, okay? You shouldn't have come out here without a rain jacket."

Sophia seemed daunted by the idea of going back to camp alone. "Can't you come?"

"No, I… I need another shirt, see?" Carol showed her the frayed edges, keeping her back carefully turned away, "I can't go back like this."

"O-O-Okay," Sophia whimpered, like a little lost kitten.

Carol waited what felt like hours. She got to her feet, a little dizzy, and paced around, getting as close to the edge of camp as she dared.

She heard a rustle and looked up, relieved, "Oh, there you are, I thought-"

But it was not Sophia.

Daryl stood there, crossbow in hand, a bloody brace of rabbits slung around his neck. He had paused mid-step, and now stared at her. Carol clutched her shirt and backed up a step, suddenly worried about something other than walkers.

"Relax," he grunted, making a sour face. "I ain't here for you. I got a trap up there," he motioned up one of the nearby trees, and then looked at her again – this time he seemed to really see her. His face became stony and he turned away, "I'll get it later," he muttered, and headed to camp.

Carol did not know him very well, but he made her nervous.

Sophia came back with a shirt and a jacket, but she had not put one on herself. She waited while Carol changed, and then they walked back together. Carol held her hand, hoping against hope that no one had seen her coming and going, and that no one would be suspicious about what had happened in the woods.

It was only drizzling now, and the clouds were dissipating, and the evening sun had set.

Carol let Sophia go and went into her tent, where Ed was napping. She grabbed a ball of their laundry that she had removed from the line earlier and took it just outside to start folding, careful of how she moved her arms. Her eyes kept wandering back to the tent while she worked. She folded on into the night, smiling pleasantly at others as they passed by, hiding the scared and lonely parts of herself and showing them what they wanted to see.

Every time her eyes drifted over to the tent, where her husband lay sleeping, she felt the strong desire to be somewhere else tonight, but could not act on it.


	16. Vacancy

**Chapter 16.**

**Vacancy.**

**Michonne.**

She could forget who she was for now.

Michonne woke up with a very small foot lodged in her cheek. She groaned, grabbed the tiny leg it was attached to, and pulled it to her, drawing a giggle from a precious little boy.

"If I get one more foot in my face, I'll lose it," she said, rolling on top of Andre and kissing his forehead, and then tickling him. He squealed, struggling to get out of the cage of her arms. "You hear me, Peanut? Just one more foot."

"Why you gotta do my boy like that?" Mike sat up nearby, groggy, and crawled over their mountain of blankets to pretend to pull her off their son, "I got you, Itty Bit. You tell mommy she better back off before I unleash my full power."

Andre rolled over beneath her and squealed, "Back off!"

Michonne gasped, "Or what?"

"Daddy!" Andre responded, batting his legs against her stomach.

Mike grabbed Michonne and pulled her to the side, holding her down, "Now! Get her!"

It was a beautiful morning, with beautiful people. Michonne could have stayed there all day. But tummies were rumbling, and the sun was rising. She cut their play session short and kissed them both, and then left the tent. Terry peeked out of his tent, tried to crawl out, got caught on the lip _again_, and rolled into the middle of the classroom.

"Where's my kiss?" he asked sleepily.

Michonne brandished her blade – a sparkling katana she had looted from a museum – and pointed it at him, "Right here, Terry."

"Your mommy is mean," Terry said to Andre, who had just crawled through the tent door to join Michonne. She tucked her blade away and picked him up.

Andre shook his head fiercely at Terry, giving him a mean look.

"I think you know the baby's decision," Michonne said gravely. She held her thumb up, and then dramatically tilted it down. Andre tried to mimic her. "Good boy. You tell that lazy Terry who the boss is? Who is it? Is it mommy? Yes, it is."

"Can I vote?" Mike crawled out, staggering to his feet and stretching so all six-foot-four of him towered over her. "I vote mommy."

Andre looked expectantly at Michonne, who gave Mike a thumbs up.

"I have to go out," she said, passing the baby to his father. "Do we need anything apart from the obvious?"

"Weed," Terry said immediately.

"Your suggestion has been noted and rejected, thanks for playing."

Mike drew her in for a kiss, smiling against her lips, "I thought it was my turn."

"I want to. I'm good at it." Michonne returned his kiss enthusiastically, wishing she could stay. He pretended to object, but she took over his scavenging runs often. She liked being outside, not shut away in this school. "Just like you're good at keeping Peanut."

"I _am_ boss at that," he admitted, lifting the toddler into the air and spinning him around, making him laugh.

"Okay. No smoking while I'm gone. Please fold the blankets before Andre tracks dirt all over everything. Please, don't let him eat any more chalk."

She left the classroom and took a left in the hallway, down the kindergarten block of the school. She had to unchain the doors to get out. Mike would chain them back once she was gone.

It was quiet outside. Michonne squinted as she pushed her way out of one of the side doors. What had once been a bustling safe haven was now mostly empty and nearly silent. No one was still living outside. Every tent had been squashed by the weather, or by the dead. Walkers roamed through the open fences, and back out again, attracted to nothing but the wind blowing.

Half of the survivors that had been here had left after a couple of weeks, and those who remained faced food shortages. When three weeks rolled around, the food was gone, and the military split up and disappeared. A herd pushed down the southern gates and took a large group while they slept – and they wandered away together while Michonne watched from the roof. She, Mike, Terry, and Andre were living inside the school with a few other groups, but it was nothing compared to the people who used to live here.

It had been twenty days since it started.

Michonne moved silently across the parking lot, ducking behind cars, her blade in her hand. She had proven quite good with it – though it took little effort to slice something up with such a sharp weapon. She brought it every time she went out, preferring it over the gun Mike had found.

It was a good day to forage. It was a little foggy because of the changing overnight temperatures, giving her better cover as she crossed the street and headed into town.

Michonne wandered the city for hours, mapping her route in her mind, careful not to trap herself. She kept a keen eye and a keen ear out for danger, but it was quiet today. Sometimes the dead seemed to be sleeping, just standing around in small groups and waiting for something to happen. Some of them just lay there in a deathly sleep until Michonne crossed their path.

She gathered a few cans of food that had been forgotten beneath a convenient store aisle, and then looted a house and took the undesirables some other group had left behind. She actually _liked_ water chestnuts. She tied an extra blanket to her backpack and – regretfully – walked past the front doors to the art museum again. One day, when her family was not hungry and the walkers were safely away, she would take what she wanted from that place. She could see it now, paintings all over the classroom walls, priceless artifacts decorating the colorful, ABC-themed shelves.

Michonne giggled to herself at the thought of it – how ludicrous it would have seemed only three weeks ago. Now everything seemed to be fitting together into a new kind of world, a world that she fit into very well.

She was afraid, of course. But she wielded a power now that she had never felt before. It was freeing, after living a restrained life. Her parents wanted her to go to college, so she went. Her parents wanted her to live in a nice neighborhood, so she did. Her biggest rebellion to date was hooking up with Mike, and he was nearly at their standard for men anyway. Out here, everything was open and new and empty, no expectations and no standards.

Except sometimes she remembered that her parents were probably dead.

Michonne returned a little sullen. She went back by the art museum and saw a walker wandering around, and some of the artwork strewn across the floor and bloodstained. She vowed that it would be her next stop. If no one else was going to preserve it, she was.

It was quiet, like before.

Michonne ducked through the fences and crept along a brick building, slipping into a side door. She strode down the hall, bringing her pack around to her front so she could have a snack in hand for the little gremlin that was sure to charge her the moment she stepped inside.

She knocked on the hall door four times, in a coded rhythm.

Her fist hit it on the last note and the door wiggled.

Michonne frowned, pushing it forward with her fingertips. It was supposed to be locked. She groaned. Mike had forgotten to come behind her.

She pressed on into the kindergarten hall, turning a right and stopping on her heel.

A blood streak led into their classroom.

Her heart started thumping nervously. Michonne walked forward on numb legs, a sound like a stadium of screaming filling her ears.

She found what she thought she would find.

Familiar faces, now with empty eyes and overfull bellies.

Blankets wet and red.

Her world suddenly caving in on itself.


	17. Fire on the Mountain

**Chapter 17.**

**Fire on the Mountain.**

**Rick.**

"Now, the trick is to angle your hands with the sun and the horizon at the same time."

Rick stood behind his son, angling his hands so they made a perfect frame around the setting sun, parallel to the horizon. His eyes skimmed the tops of pine trees, still bathed in late midday light. A gentle wind pushed through them, knocking the branches into one another. Carl let his hands go crooked again, laughing, and then turned them into a spyglass.

"Can you see any further away with that?" Rick wondered.

Carl squinted, turning around to peer up at Rick through his hands, "Sort of."

"Maybe I'll find you a real one, huh?"

Carl dropped his hands, "Do they really have those? I thought they were just in movies."

"Come on, you serious?"

"Yes!"

Rick groaned dramatically, clutching at his heart. "Okay, okay. I'll give you that one, but only 'cause we never went sailin' on the ocean."

Carl reformed his spyglass and turned it toward the treetops, saying wistfully, "Maybe we still can one day." His voice resonated. "I can navigate us by the sun. See? It's over the trees right now, so it's gonna be night in… hmm… three hours."

"Four. Those trees are taller than you think. But good start."

Carl beamed.

Rick walked to the edge, where the rock dropped off into the quarry lake. Andrea was out there on the boat with Dale, and Carol and Amy were doing laundry by the water. It was a tranquil day, not too hot, a warm breeze blowing through camp.

It was days like this that tempted him to forget why they were all here.

"Uh, dad?"

Rick looked up. Carl had come over to him, and he was pointing to the woods – someone was staggering toward them, toward the camp.

He drew his gun, his heart pounding, his peace shattered.

"Walker!"

It was like yelling 'fire' in a crowded theater.

Morales came bursting out of his tent. Glenn rolled off the top of the RV and tried to get his rifle on his shoulder. Daryl jumped up and loaded his crossbow, striding across camp. Kids ran for the nearest adults and anyone who was unarmed ran for someone who was. Shane crashed out of the RV, hastily putting his gun back together, to join Rick on the front lines.

Seconds passed.

Rick raised his gun, advancing with his partner by his side.

He waited. And waited. His breath was loud in his ears.

But then he got a good look at her.

"Hold your fire!"

It was one of the survivors from the clearing camp. _Audrey_. She had been the one to turn them down when they asked for antibiotics for Louis four days ago.

She saw him and came straight for him, collapsing to her hands and knees, gasping for breath. "Help. Please. Help us!"

Rick crouched down, offering his hand to the woman. She took it, holding it desperately to her. She was sweaty and her skin was blackened – she smelled like smoke. "What happened?"

"They came out of nowhere! Please!"

Rick jumped to his feet. "We gotta go down the mountain! Who's with me?"

Shane cocked his gun pointedly, "Lead the way."

Morales joined them, sporting a rifle. Glenn hesitated at the base of the RV.

Daryl surprised Rick when he broke out of the crowd, "I'll come. Been bored as hell all day."

It was a race down the mountain.

Rick smelled smoke long before they got there. He let the adrenaline take over, let himself worry about every cracking branch, every movement he thought he saw. His companions spread out around him, forming a line through the woods. Gradually, the air began to thicken and warm. Rick had to stop before they made it into the clearing.

"Whole place is lit up," Shane said in a whisper.

"Looks like a damn barbeque," Daryl commented.

Rick got a little closer, until he could see the orange flames licking at the supply pallet. It was half ash by now. He saw no signs of life. Walkers roamed around, fire eating up their flesh. It was a nightmarish scene.

"Nothing here," Shane said, putting a hand on Rick.

"If we leave them here, they'll spread the fire up and down this mountain," Morales said. "How many can you see?"

Shane looked doubtful. "No need to waste bullets."

"Fire's gonna scare off all the game," Daryl said. "You wanna starve?"

"We don't have to kill them." Rick tried to draw on memory, and then turned to the only man who would know the answer to his question. "How far is the nearest river?"

Daryl glanced around, "Like a quarter mile past here. But the shit's on fire."

"I'll lead them to the water, get 'em put out. We don't have to kill them."

"I'd rather we take 'em down than you run off and do that!" Shane said. He sighed, checking his clip, "Lock and load, boys."

It was only a dozen walkers. Rick got two headshots, and by that time, the walkers knew they were there and were heading toward them. Shane took two down, Morales got one, and Daryl nailed two more with his crossbow. They split the remaining walkers between them, with Rick and Shane both hitting the last one at the same time. Their bodies lay there, smoldering.

"Spread out, look for survivors. Audrey had two more people in her group – a man and a girl."

Rick stumbled upon the girl, Claire. She was hiding behind the pallet, coughing, covered in ash. He dragged her up into his arms and carried her away from the fire, staying with her while the others searched the rest of the area – they came up with nothing. Michael was gone.

"Do you know where Michael is?" Rick asked.

Claire looked at him with big eyes and said nothing.

"Okay. We're gonna get you back to our camp. Audrey is there. Can you walk?"

She stumbled at first, but eventually the girl started a reasonable pace. Rick set his speed to hers, and the others followed. When she slowed, they slowed, until the quarry was within view. Rick carried her the last quarter mile.

Audrey was sitting with Lori, sipping from a canteen. Rick brought the girl over to them. Audrey put an arm around Claire and held her, seeming to have regained some of her toughness over the last hour or so. She nodded to Rick, and then pressed her face into the girl's hair.

"What happened to your camp?" Rick asked.

Audrey said nothing for a time. Claire started sobbing.

Slowly, the quarry camp dissipated. Everyone looked uneasily at their guests, giving Rick a strong 'us and them' vibe. But then something sweet kept happening. People would come by and visit, offer them food, or clothes, or a tent to sleep in. Carol left them some jackets. Lori kept bringing them fresh water. Dale offered to cook up some fish for them, and when he got no answer, he did it anyway.

When the sun was halfway down, Dale delivered his fish stew. Rick was still sitting with them, Lori beside him, Carl wrapped up in his arms.

Rick spoke again, "How you holdin' up?"

Audrey looked over at last, and he was worried to see that the life gone out of her brown eyes.

"If you need a place to sleep, and you wanna be inside, you can stay on the table bed in the RV. Amy already said it was alright with her."

She stared at him, saying nothing.

"What I'm sayin' is, you're welcome to stay the night, at least. Figure out what you wanna do. I know you've been through a lot today."

Her jaw seemed to unlock. She looked exhausted as she whispered, "Claire was… bitten."

Rick felt a jolt, like she had punched him. He thought of the man they had tried to save, the one who turned into a walker after a bite and nearly killed his family. His skin prickled with fear and anxiety, but he wouldn't let it get the best of him. Claire had been bitten, but she was still a person – at least for now.

Audrey obviously knew what it meant. Her eyes were defeated.

Claire barely looked awake.

"I'm sorry," was all Rick could think to say.

Claire stirred, "I'm fine."

"Yeah, you are." Audrey smiled halfheartedly, pulling the girl over so her head lay in her lap. She stroked her hair, like a mother would her daughter. "Just get some rest, okay?"

Claire hummed her agreement.

Rick wanted to keep her talking, "How old are you, Claire?"

"Sixteen," the girl murmured.

"High school, then?"

"Yeah. A junior."

"What were you gonna do after?"

Claire cracked an eye open, surveying him. "I don't know. My mom wants me to be a nurse, but I think I wanna be a chef. She said it wasn't gonna make any money."

"Well, now, money's not everything."

"I know."

He pressed on, asking her about what she liked to cook, and where she wanted to go to school. Anything to keep her talking. Lori chimed in a few times, telling short stories, talking about boys, and a few other people came closer to contribute. Carol asked her what her mom was like. Dale asked if she had ever been fishing and offered to take her sometime. But others hung back, intimidated by this scene. Glenn looked horrified and sad. Shane sat off on his own, thinking. Andrea was holding Amy, probably hoping this never happened to her.

As the night pressed in around them, the girl developed a fever. Sweat beaded on her skin like raindrops. She slid in and out of consciousness.

"How did you meet her?" Rick said to Audrey.

It was dark, but he could still see her face. She was looking down at Claire. "It sounds stupid, but I haven't known her that long. We ran into each other on the road – literally, she knocked me off my bike, and I gave her a ride. I just felt responsible for her, you know?"

Rick nodded.

"I wish we had come back with you, the first time we met."

"I wish that, too."

Rick left it at that.

The sun had set by the time the girl died. Her breathing became shallow and she settled against Audrey, giving one final shudder as the life left her.

"I'm sorry," Rick said again. "I can help you… bury her."

Audrey said nothing. She had tears in her eyes.

Rick sent his family off to bed. Lori and Carl were some of the last people still out there with him. Carl had fallen asleep in his arms, and Lori was nodding off. She led their son away.

He waited until they were in the tent, and then pulled a knife from his belt.

Audrey looked up at it, drawing a sharp breath.

"She'll come back if you don't-"

"I know," Audrey cut him off, managing to sound angry through her grief. She took the knife, wiping her tears hastily with he back of her hand. "I know."

She plunged the knife through her friend's skull and left it there. Blood oozed out. Audrey slid Claire out of her lap and curled her legs up to her body, pressing against the side of the RV like she wanted to get away. But she couldn't move.

Shane approached, "Me and Rick will bury her. Go on inside and get some sleep."

Audrey stared daggers at him. They had not gotten along the first time they met, and his tone was not friendly now. But she did as he said. She held the side of the RV on her way in, like she was having trouble staying upright on her own.

"We could have had those supplies," Shane said the moment she was gone.

Rick saw this coming. He nodded solemnly.

"Now all we got is a fire down the mountain, a dead girl, and another mouth to feed."

"That's not who we are," Rick said again, like he had that day in the clearing.

Shane rolled his eyes, groaning. "Maybe that's who we need to be, then, Rick."

"Is that what you want to be, Shane?"

He left it at that, and the two of them buried the body together. Rick had a bad feeling about his friend. Shane was right in some ways. If they had taken the supplies back then, the quarry group would have been better off. Louis might have been better quicker. And if the clearing group had joined them, they might still be alive.

Either way, the sum of all their decisions was this – a fire, a dead girl, and another mouth to feed.


	18. What We Become

**Chapter 18.**

**What We Become.**

**Negan.**

Negan braced himself on the wall, watching thick, blackish blood ooze from her broken head onto the nice, floral-patterned carpet. He felt sick, but he held firm, forcing himself to live in this moment. He had never liked Dr. Todd and she thought he was a piece of shit, but it still felt like murder when he smashed her face in with a bat.

The evidence was all there.

Negan stepped around a pile of vomit, a handwritten note, an empty pill bottle, and rummaged through the drawers for anything Lucille might be able to use. Snapshots of Dr. Todd's life kept popping out at him – pictures of her kids, degrees and commendations, research grants and academic papers. None of that meant anything anymore. Although all of their encounters had been hostile, her death hit him hard. It was the first person lost that he _knew_.

"I'm sorry," he said, as he dragged the body out of the way to get to the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. "Lucille liked you. Don't know _why_." His eyes were drawn to her again. "Sorry. I know you're not supposed to talk ill of the dead – but seriously, _fuck you_. You can take that into the afterlife." He decided not to tell Lucille about this.

His search came up with a lot of sample boxes, a few pills prescribed to Dr. Todd, and some books on dealing with breast cancer. He also found some crackers in her desk and a pocketknife in her jacket pocket. It would have to be enough.

He strode outside, hefting his bag over his shoulder. He had gotten an early start that morning, going mostly unnoticed by the dead in the twilight.

The sun was only just rising.

And the street was not empty.

Four men stood on the yellow line in the road. They all stopped to stare at him. Negan froze, his neck hair standing up. He knew immediately that he was in danger from the way they were looking at him – hostile, hungry, like a pack of wild dogs. In the past twenty or so days, the world had become so different, so empty, so harsh, that the first place he went was terror.

"Whatcha got there, friend?" One of them said. He was a husky guy with a rifle in one hand and a pistol strapped to his side.

Negan regarded them wearily, picking his words, careful of his tone, "Nothing much."

"It looks like something," another guy said, "Looks heavy."

He was heavily outnumbered. He didn't dare reach for the gun on his side. He let his pack down gently and opened it wide, "It's just medicine, see? It's for my wife."

One of them came forward, and the rest trailed behind, fanning out. He was being surrounded, but he had nowhere to go.

The husky one, the leader, said, "Looks like food to me."

Negan suddenly regretted scavenging that morning. He had canned food and crackers in his bag, nestled among the sample boxes. "You can have it," he offered. "I just need the medicine."

All four of them were closing in. Negan kept the others in the corner of his eye, focusing on the leader, who was suddenly the furthest away.

"How about this?" the man said, "You walk away and leave the bag here. We call it a day."

Negan tried to hide his desperation, but it was clear in his voice. "I can't."

He knew what was going to happen next.

One of the men lunched suddenly, and Negan turned on him, delivering a solid right hook. He felt his knuckles giving way at impact. Another tackled him, dragging him to the ground. He went down fighting, punching and kicking in a desperate bid for freedom.

But there were too many of them. He took a blow to the face, to the ribs. He curled into a ball, trying to protect his face, leaving his body exposed.

It seemed that it would never stop. It went on and on, until his chest began to numb.

And then they stopped. He watched through swollen eyes as they took his bag and headed down the road, not even glancing back at him.

He lay there for hours, still curled up, wiping trembling hands over his eyes to see through the blood. Slowly, tenderly, he stretched out, and rolled over to his back. He stared up at the sky, watching the sun slowly sink toward the tree line. How long had he been lying here?

His terror from before had shifted to anger, to fury, only growing each time his ribs throbbed.

Around dusk, he heard the shuffle of feet on concrete.

Negan dragged himself up into a sitting position, pressing his hand hard to his abdomen to dim the pain in his ribs. He felt like shit, probably looked like shit. A dead guy was coming toward him, and there were more in the distance.

He staggered to his feet, limping in the direction the men had gone. His bat lay on the ground where he had dropped it – worthless to people who had guns.

But it was all he had left.

As he moved, he straightened out, forcing himself to work through the pain. It was either this, or death. There were only two choices. And he had to get back to Lucille.

He limped along, his shuffle and the blood on his face making him look just like one of the dead. His head was spinning at first, his right leg aching like one of them had nailed him right in the thigh, and every now and then he had to stop and wipe a line of blood away from his eye – but he was otherwise intact. If they were trying to kill him, they were shit at it.

It was fully nighttime when he heard their voices. He had been walking for over an hour down the main road, having lost hope of finding them. He was just going home to Lucille. But there was no mistaking the signs of life inside a little shopping center.

Negan stepped up to the window, peeking carefully inside. They were sitting around a lantern on the floor, their faces glowing. They were smiling, chatting, eating.

He slid down, sitting just below the window, and waited.

When the voices stopped, and they were lying on sleeping bags, and they stopped tossing and turning and all lay still and tranquil, Negan grabbed his bat and let himself in.

His bag was propped up against a central beam, far enough away that he could avoid going near the group. He went straight for it, checking that everything was still there, and carried it carefully toward the door. He picked up one of the guns, lying carelessly by the lantern, as he passed.

He was nearly clear when someone stirred behind him.

Negan whipped around, dropped the bag and the gun, and held his bat with two hands. One of the men was waking up, looking up at him groggily.

He swung straight downward, making brutal contact with the top of the man's head. His skull split with a solid _crack_ and he slumped to the ground. A second one stirred at the noise and Negan swung again, hitting the side of his head first, dazing him, and then striking true the second time.

A third was getting to his feet, reaching for his gun, but Negan had already picked his stolen gun up to fire. He shot the guy three times before the fourth man hit him like a brick wall.

Negan hit the ground and the gun flew out of his hand. The guy got on top of him and started throwing punches, and for a moment, Negan could only put his hands up to protect himself. He gave in, taking a dizzying punch to the jaw, get a hand on the ground and throw himself upward. Negan got on top, and then struggled at the bottom, and then got the upper hand again. All the while, fists and legs were flying – the guy tried to bite him and Negan elbowed him in the teeth.

It was life or death. He only had one way out.

The man made the mistake of trying to break away to get the gun.

Negan got on his back, got his arms around his neck, and held on with all his strength.

He thrashed around, but Negan held on. He pushed through an elbow to the ribs, hands clawing at his face, legs kicking his shins. And then the man shifted his efforts, pulling at his arms, trying to free his throat. His mouth gaped.

Negan held on for a while.

It was like driving a familiar route and shifting into autopilot.

When he finally let the guy go, he had lost more time than he expected. His arms ached from holding on. He was exhausted. He lay there under the body, too tired to even push it away.

He breathed in, breathed out.

It was done. It was over.

Negan got to his feet and nearly collapsed. He leaned on the beam for support. Bodies lay all around him and blood covered the floor – his and theirs. Four men, as still as stone. He had done this. His bat was painted red. His shirt was stained, his shoes soaked.

But he had won. He was the victor. He was the survivor.

Negan packed up his stuff, rummaged through theirs, and limped to the doorway, looking back to see them one last time. "Asshole," he muttered as he left.

It was over and hour before he made it home.

It was quiet and dark inside. He figured Lucille had gone to sleep. He had left a few candles burning for her, but half of them had gone out.

He set his bag down and slipped into the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. His face was turning all kinds of colors, like a melted box of crayons. His lip was split. His chest and back were bruised. One of his cheeks was starting to swell up and the inside of his mouth was cut from impact with his teeth. He looked like hell. But he was strangely energized. His eyes were bright. He even smiled at himself.

"I got you some stuff," Negan announced as he came out, "It's not much, but-"

He stopped talking, stopped thinking, when he saw what was waiting for him in the living room.

Lucille was hobbling out of their bedroom, the cold haze of death in her eyes. She almost appeared alive, if not for the groaning, the gnashing teeth.

His first instinct, his strongest instinct, was to run.

He turned, grabbed his bat, and ran through the front door, slamming it shut behind him. But his legs could take him no further. He leaned against it, slid down it, and sat there while she clawed at the wood. And suddenly he was crying, sobbing, his thoughts all jumbled up.

He sat there until dawn.

It came into the sky first, a pale light, showing their overgrown front lawn. She used to sunbathe out there, before they ever thought about cancer. The light touched him, showed him how gnarly his knuckles looked. He stared at them, trying to block out the clawing hands on the other side of the door. Her attempts to get to him were halfhearted now, like she was losing interest.

A lot could change in a day.

When he woke up, he was married.

And just one sunrise later, he was alone.


	19. Strong

**Chapter 19.**

**Strong.**

**Carol.**

There was a time when she thought Ed was her soulmate.

She was young, still just a kid, and the world seemed small to her. It was one small town after another all over the map, nothing different. Mama was quiet, but happy, and daddy was boisterous and sweet. He used to take her out on the boat, and they would fish for hours – she was never good at it, always wandering off, jumping on rocks, looking for salamanders, but he brought her anyway. She was a wild child, bold and confident, rocketing through life just like daddy did. She wanted to be like him. She had her quiet moments, too, sitting with mama and listening to the radio, daydreaming in rocking chairs on the front porch, planting flowers in the garden.

She was happy. High school was her dream. For a while she was popular, smart, ready for the future to start – and then she met him. Ed was handsome and charming. He had a car. He used to go out vandalizing houses with his friends, and she thought that was cool.

He had seemed so perfect to her, but she had not realized at the time that he was chipping away at her. He was like waves on rocks, taking a little away with him each time he touched her. She never noticed because the changes were so small. She stopped going out with her friends, only ever leaving home when he was with her. She kept her hair long because he liked it that way, even though it was too hot in the summer. She lost touch with her friends and only knew the people that he knew. Her parents seemed further away, drifting off into the past.

But she was still happy. Ed was her dream. He was sweet and strong, providing for their growing family without a single complaint. He wanted her to be happy, he said. He wanted her to stay home and raise their sweet little Sophia, he said.

The good times ended where the bad times began. Ed had moments where he was not sweet, and those moments became more frequent as time went on. Carol had never been hit before and the first time it happened she had all these ideas of leaving – until he sunk to his knees at her feet and swore it would never happen again. She loved him. She let it happen.

Maybe that was why _this_ had happened.

Carol lay on her side in her tent, staring at the white wall.

She had been inside for days, claiming she was sick, lying to the people she had befriended to cover up what her husband had done – to cover up her shame. Her back was covered in welts, some of them open cuts, and her torso was bruised. She had not looked at herself in a mirror since it happened, preferring not to see what she already knew was there.

She spent her time thinking, imagining the person she had been, how strong that little girl was. She wondered if her parents were still alive, if they would take her back if she found them. It was the only place she could imagine going.

But even now, she was terrified of the thought of leaving Ed. He was part of her life. And if she left him, she still be here with him. She would still be in this camp, in the quarry. It would change nothing. It would only make him more vicious. And what did that mean for Sophia?

It was midafternoon, four days after her self-quarantine, that Shane came into her tent.

He kicked his shoes off at the entrance and came to sit beside her, cross-legged. His eyes were heavy and tired, his hair pressed down from wearing a hat. Carol didn't know much about what was going on in camp, only what Sophia told her and what Ed grumbled about when he came in to sleep, but it seemed like Shane was having a hard time.

He stared at her for a while, pitying, before he spoke.

"How're you doing, Carol?"

He looked guilty, and he should be. Ed told her what sparked his anger in the woods. One of the 'pigs' had come to talk to him, to tell him what he should be doing differently in his marriage. Carol was not sure which of them it had been until this moment. Now she could only wonder about the _why_. She had poured over her interactions with Ed and found nothing so obvious going on in camp. Her mind circled back to the simplest solution – Sophia had said something to someone.

Carol wanted to be mad at Shane, but she could not muster the emotion.

She said, "I'm fine."

Shane ran a hand through his thick, curly hair. "Ed do somethin' to you?"

Carol was startled by his bluntness. Rick and Shane had spoken to her separately, once or twice, trying to get her to say something against her husband, but they were never so forward. She stammered for a moment, and then choked, "No."

His eyes bore into hers. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

Her voice was just a whisper. "I don't need your help."

"Yes, you do."

Carol felt a sudden spark of anger. "I'm not a lost puppy. What happens in my marriage is none of your business, or anybody else's. I want you to leave me alone!"

Shane was taken aback. His face hardened. He nodded and left the tent.

She lay there in silence for a few more minutes, the anger searing through her. She usually kept it away, afraid that Ed might see, afraid that she would say something wrong. But this time she rode it out, let herself be pissed off about how much pain she was in, how unfair it all was, how the end of the world had come and trapped her here.

And when the anger was gone, she pulled herself upright. She slid her shirt off and retrieved her hand mirror from beneath the cot.

She made herself look at the bruises.

It was never going to stop. The realization hit her, and the resolution to change it came after. Ed was going to keep doing this unless she did something to stop him.


	20. Details

**Chapter 20.**

**Details.**

**Rick.**

He had been avoiding this visit for days.

Rick knew it had to happen at some point. He had been a police officer for over a decade now, so this was nothing new to him. He was not afraid. He was not unsure of what to say. But he knew once he went into that tent and saw her, he would have to take action.

It was that part that scared him.

The world had changed. It had turned on its side, and things that used to matter now paled to survival. It was all about living – they had little time to think about the _quality_ of life.

"Carol?" he said, tapping on the side of the tent. "May I come in?"

Her voice came softly, "Yes."

Rick entered the tent, kicking off his shoes and crouching beside her cot. Carol lay on her side, a split lip the only outward indication that something had happened. Her body was stiff, the edges of bruises just peaking out under her sleeves. He was trained to detect these sorts of things, to see the pictures people might try to hide.

It was different out here in the woods, with no jail cells, no court of law. Rick had been running on fumes trying to keep his family alive. He had no idea what kind of power he might have, what change he might be able to make here. He only knew where to start.

He took a look around, winced at the beige walls, and said, "You gotta be tired of these walls by now."

She smiled, but the expression didn't reach her eyes. He knew that dead-eyed look. Not even a hit of peace in them. Troubled, like storm clouds.

"Listen, Dale is gonna tell the kids some stories around the fire tonight, try to lift everybody's spirits. You should come."

Carol was quiet, her eyes flickering down to the floor.

"I think Sophia might like it if you were there," Rick pressed.

She stared at his boots, giving no reaction apart from a subtle twitch in her jaw. In a voice as departed as her eyes, she said, "I'll come."

Maybe she was just trying to make him leave. Rick knew that Shane had already spoken to her, trying to get her to admit what her husband had done, but that was not his intention here. He just needed to see her for himself, to put this image in his mind. Now that he had seen it, it was time to take action – though he was still unsure what that might entail.

"Okay. You rest up, then. I'll let you know when we're gettin' started, okay?"

He left her there, dragging a hand through his hair as the sunshine hit him, as if he could shake off what he'd seen in the light of day.

Lori was waiting in their tent, pacing back and forth like it was more than seven feet from wall to wall. She froze in her tracks when he came in, her expression hopeful, but cautious. Sometimes when he got home from work, uniform still on, still frazzled from his day, she would grill him about the results of one case or another. It was a small town and she always seemed to know what was going on. Sometimes Rick told her. Other times it was too cruel to share it.

It felt like one of those times.

"Did you talk to Carol?" Lori asked. "How is she? Is she okay?"

"She has a split lip, but that's all I could tell," Rick said, sitting heavily on their cot. His weight had suddenly doubled, now that Carol was sitting on his shoulders.

Lori sat beside him. "What are you going to do?"

Rick groaned, running a hand over his face.

She pressed, "Rick, you have to do something."

"I know that. I just don't know what."

"We can't just let him beat her up!"

"I know," Rick repeated. "But there's no jail I can throw him in." He met her eyes, trying to convey his dilemma. "And if I make him leave, who's to say he won't just show up and retaliate against Carol, or worse? And putting him out would kill him. What do you want me to do?"

Her eyes burned, but she had no answers, either. She turned away, staring at the tent wall. Rick knew how she was feeling. Angry, with no outlet. When this all started this was the last thing Rick thought he would have to deal with.

But it made sense, in a way. People didn't stop being themselves just because the world ended.

"I'm gonna take a walk, try to think," Rick said shortly, leaving his wife there to sulk.

It seemed brighter outside. Rick's head began to ache as he walked through camp. Everybody was going about their lives, finding order in their tiny society. Sometimes he wondered if they were too comfortable here, forgetting what lie beyond the trees. But he wanted it like that, didn't he? He wanted to worry, so that they could forget.

Walkers were the exterior threat, the enemy, but now there was something dangerous inside.

Two things, Rick amended, as his eyes landed on Merle. He was propped up against his motorcycle, carefully arranging pills into five neat piles.

Again, there was no recourse out in the woods.

"Can you do that more privately?" Rick said, standing in front of Merle to block the view of him from the main camp, where his kid was playing.

Merle slid a few more pills around, and then drew his eyes slowly up to Rick, lingering on the gun on his hip. He smiled pleasantly. "Well, howdy, sheriff."

Rick knew that he was full of shit. He'd been watching Merle, knew that he and Roy liked to hang around with Ed. Birds of a feather. There was a devious mind behind those falsely friendly eyes – an air of sarcasm and lies behind everything he said. But so far he had been harmless, if not a little gruff. His brother Daryl had saved Carl out in the woods.

Either way, Rick was not fond of drugs.

"Oh, shit, you talkin' 'bout this?" Merle rasped, gesturing to his piles of pills. He scraped them all together, making Rick wonder why he was sorting them in the first place. "Sorry, I was just taking inventory. You know how it is."

Rick grimaced. "Just make sure those stay away from the kids, please."

"Of course. Wouldn't dream of lettin' 'em get their precious little hands on my stash."

Everything he said seemed to have a hidden meaning. Rick hoped he wouldn't become a problem. It was hard enough having to figure out what to do about Ed.

XxX

**Daryl.**

He never got to be alone for very long.

Carl was always stalking him, lurking nearby, imitating whatever he was doing. It had been a day for it. Carl was currently pretending to skin his own rabbit from twenty feet away, and Daryl was sick of shouting at him to leave him alone. So he just ignored him.

The boy scampered away when Merle showed up.

"I'm done with this place," Merle said, dropping a bag beside Daryl and flopping down on his back in the grass. "I'm ready to go. _Tonight_."

Daryl tensed, "Tonight?"

"Oh, yeah. We're sittin' around out here, just waitin' for the inevitable. It's bullshit. They got some kinda gatherin' going on tonight, everybody all sittin' around. Perfect time. We hold one of 'em, the others stay in line 'til we get the truck loaded up."

Daryl said nothing, shearing skin from muscle in smooth motions. It kept him calm, kept him focused on the important questions. "Just like that, huh?"

"Well, with a little collateral…"

He kept his voice even, "Who's the unlucky bastard?"

As if summoned, Roy appeared, glistening with midday sweat. He wiped a rag across his sopping face, grinning, "Hey, boys. Hammerin' out the details?" He and Merle met eyes briefly, an exchange that made Daryl feel like an outsider.

His legs bundled up under him, ready to run, like a mouse out in an open field.

Merle sat up and gave Daryl a hard pat on the back, groaning as he got to his feet. "Relax, we got it all worked out, boy. You just gotta show up."

Daryl said nothing, carefully severing the skin from its final point of contact with the body of the rabbit. He set it aside, flesh down, to dry on the sweltering rock. Merle hitched one lip in that way he had – like he was mad – and put an arm around Roy, "Give us a minute, eh?"

Once Roy had wandered off, sneaking glances over his shoulders, Merle crouched down by Daryl's work station. He surveyed the rabbit. "Sloppy."

"Lots of mouth flappin,'" Daryl said.

"Now, call me paranoid, bro, but you don't see too… _enthused_."

Merle had an edge in his voice. Older. Wiser. Keener. That was the mistake people made when they were dealing with him. Merle was smart, smarter than they thought. It got them pretty far in life – until now. This camp felt like a roadblock. But the moment he met the sheriff, he started laying it on thick. Even Merle couldn't keep that up forever.

It was probably for the best they split soon.

So why did Daryl feel so strange about it?

Roy.

It was easy when he gave it any thought. He hated Roy. He was slimy. He was the kind of man their father would like – so why in the hell was Merle so friendly with him? It felt like betrayal. No. It _looked_ like betrayal.

Merle was starting to look like their father in Daryl's eyes.

But some things you can never say.

"I don't want to be there," Daryl finally said, settling for the least harmful of all his hang ups.

Merle snorted, "What, you scared?"

"No, I ain't scared!" Daryl shot back, finally pausing his work. He had half of the chest dissected, thin strips of meat lying by the skin. He met Merle's eyes, seeing a brief flash of red. "I don't wanna be a part of that shit! Who're you taking?"

"I don't know, boy, one of the men. Maybe the sheriff's partner."

Daryl scowled.

Merle stared him down with the menace of a pit bull.

Daryl was starting to falter.

But before he could break, Merle relented, "Fine, be a pussy. I don't give a shit if you're there. We can handle it. You can meet us at the river – the U-bend in the Copperhead. Or you scared to be out in the woods alone after dark?"

Daryl went back to his work. He suppressed his relief, hiding it from his brother. Once they were away from all of this, Roy could have a little accident in the woods.

"What about you're other pal?" Daryl wondered.

Merle frowned, scratched his head, and then snorted, "Who? Ed?" He laughed, looking behind them to where camp life went on as usual. Nobody there knew that they would be short more than half of their supplies and one member by the end of the night. Ed was chatting with Roy, swatting flies off his fat face.

"What, you two break up?" Daryl asked.

Merle huffed, his voice taking on a serious, cutting tone. "You see what he did to his old lady? No way he's comin' with me. Get a knife in the eye's more likely."

And he walked off.

Daryl watched him go. Merle was a man who would stab someone for cheating at poker – Daryl had seen him do it before – but suddenly he cared what Ed did to his wife? Maybe the heat was finally getting to him.

Either way, it was a relief. Now Daryl only had to get rid of Roy, and it could be just the two of them again, like it should be. Once they were alone in the woods, things would go back to normal between them.

Daryl left the camp before dusk, leaving his meat out to dry so it wouldn't be suspicious. He took his hunting pack, full of rations, and left most of his other stuff laying around. It looked like he would come right back, pick up where he left off. Only he would never be back. He would leave this suffocating place behind.

He took one last look through the trees, caught sight of Carl trying to locate him. He rolled his eyes. He hoped no one died tonight, but he was absolving himself of blame by staying away. He would see them when it was over.

Other people were a nuisance, a liability.

Maybe Merle would kill them all, save them the misery of starving to death.


	21. Within

**Chapter 21.**

**Within.**

**Rick.**

It was getting dark in Georgia.

Rick Grimes stood in the light of the sunset, standing so close to the edge of the quarry that he could have been flying. His eyes were closed, but not tightly. He appeared relaxed, tranquil, but there was a rigidity in his posture.

It had been a long day. Not physically grueling, but emotionally taxing. Going into this he thought the worst thing he would face was losing people. Watching them go hungry. Watching the walkers pull them under. He never thought about struggles _within_ the group. Dynamics. Friendships. Prejudices. Abuse. Walkers seemed like reason enough to put all that aside. But as the days passed – exactly twenty-three of them now, he had counted – human nature peeked out again. Selfishness. Unrest. Pride. Insecurity.

When the light seemed to fade, Rick opened his eyes. The quarry was beautiful, bathed in twilight. It looked like another world. Rocky walls, alternating shadows. Nothing stirring. He wondered how long they could stay here, if they could make this home permanent.

Arms wrapped around him from behind.

Lori.

She was warm and welcome. She rested her face on his back, sighing softly. "We'll figure it out," she promised. It seemed her fire from earlier had somewhat faded. Or, it was still there, but she'd realized that yelling at him about it wouldn't solve anything. He was grateful.

Rick put his hands over hers, saying nothing.

When they broke apart, their eyes met, and then they joined the others next to the RV. Dale was setting up the fire, teasing snippets of his stories to the kids. Carl, Sophia, Eliza, and Louis – who was feeling better every day – were hounding him for details. Rick and Lori sat with their backs facing the quarry, giving Rick a good view of the woods. He was surprised to see Audrey take a seat near the RV. It felt like years ago, but it had only been yesterday that she arrived in their camp. Her companions were dead, her supplies burnt to a crisp. All she had left was the clothes on her back and her snappy attitude. Rick had been so preoccupied with his other duties today that he'd forgotten about her.

It seemed like everything was happening so fast.

"I'm gonna go check on Carol," Rick said, but before he had even gotten up, the door to her tent opened and Carol stumbled out. She straightened herself, rubbed her eyes, and joined the circle.

Nobody said anything about her disappearance, only smiled at her arrival. Rick knew they were trying to be sensitive. It alerted him to the fact that everyone was aware of the situation – or too unobservant to see what was happening. The pressure for him to act mounted.

Lori slid her hand into his, casually easing his tension. She murmured, "We can figure things out in the morning."

Carol sat beside her, smiling halfheartedly, "Did he start yet?"

"No, just getting the fire started," Lori said.

Ed arrived and sat silently beside his wife, drinking a beer. Rick felt himself tense, and then forced it away. Tomorrow. He would find his miracle solution tomorrow. Right now he wanted just one night of peace. Just one night to forget.

He smiled reassuringly at Audrey across the fire, but she looked away. Shane gave her a sidelong glance as he passed. He dropped down beside Rick. Since Rick and Shane's disagreement about the clearing group and their supplies – and the subsequent deaths of everyone but Audrey – they hadn't spoken much. But Shane sitting beside him was a start, at least.

Sophia crawled over to her mother, smiling happily, and scooting between her knees. Carol had life in her eyes again.

Dale started his first story. Carl retreated to Lori, getting comfortable up by her legs. Lori ran her hands absently through his hair, leaning hard on Rick. He almost felt like things were back to normal, like they were all just camping out for the night. Families sitting together, their faces kissed by the glow of a low flame, kids smiling and laughing. Weird old uncle Dale spinning tales of dragons and dictionaries. Glenn broke out a bag of marshmallows and his popularity skyrocketed.

Sophia dragged her mother out of the circle to go to the bathroom just as Dale got to a scary part of the story. Maybe an intentional break. Carl scooted over to Rick, tipping his head up, the fire casting a long shadow across his nose.

"Hey, dad, we should make a movie theater."

"Oh, yeah?" Rick asked.

"Yeah." His eyes sparkled. "We could make popcorn and sell tickets – but you buy tickets with, like, cans of food or something. And then we split up all the food and eat it during the movie."

"What kind of movies would you play, Bug?" Lori asked.

"I dunno, like cartoons, I guess. So the littler kids liked it. If it was scary stuff, Sophia would _never_ come." He glanced over, as if confirming she was missing, and added, "She told me she got scared in the middle of that movie about the dalmatians!"

"Puppies are serious business," Rick said. "Lots of licking. Puddles on the carpet."

Carl grinned.

Minutes ticked by and Dale finished his story with a rousing, "And everyone – except the dragon – lived happily ever after."

Carl seemed to be strongly resisting the urge to clap.

Rick glanced around again, heartened by the joy he saw.

He had only just noticed that Carol and Sophia were not back from their bathroom break when he heard a small shriek near the RV.

He was on his feet in an instant, gun in hand, Shane by his side.

But they were too late.

Roy was standing there, Sophia in his arms, a serrated combat knife pressed to her throat. A bead of blood ran down her pale skin. He had her lifted, her legs dangling. She was deadly still, her eyes flickering around in terror, but the rest of her frozen like a stunned rabbit.

"Let her go," Rick said, the first to speak.

He was bewildered, stricken, but there was no time for confusion. The threat was clear. The purpose was hazy.

"Everybody just relax and stay put. Nothing happens to her if nobody moves."

Rick dared a look around, finding shock and confusion echoed throughout the group. Ed was on his feet, one hand half-extended, befuddled. And then his expression shifted to anger. He clenched his jaw, but did not risk a step.

A stray thought. Oh, no. _Where is Carol?_

And then Rick only had time for the girl. Just the girl.

"What do you want?" Rick asked.

"We're takin' off," Roy explained. A few clunks sounded behind him. A truck started up and headlights illuminated the woods.

Merle appeared from around the RV, a rifle on his shoulder. He looked at Roy first – was there surprise in his eyes? – and then he grinned at Rick.

"Sheriff, I'm gonna need that firearm. That goes for everybody. Put 'em down, safety on, and kick 'em over here."

Rick was trembling with rage. He pulled his pistol very slowly, carefully, and ticked the safety on. While he was leaning to put it on the ground, Lori was sliding Carl behind her, equal rage on her face. If she could have, he knew she would've killed Roy for this.

He might kill Roy for this.

"Okay, okay, everybody take a deep breath. Calming thoughts." Merle gathered the guns, tucking them into a duffel bag. "Ain't nothin' happenin' to the kid 'less you do somethin' stupid."

"You better get your hands off her," Lori growled.

"Or what? Huh? You got big balls, lady," Merle spun his rifle into a firing position, pointing it dead at Lori. "Go on. Tell me what you're gonna do."

"Lori," Rick warned lowly.

She bit her lip.

"What are you _doing_?" Ed said, taking a risky step forward.

Merle snapped his rifle toward him, eyebrows up, "Oh, you didn't get the memo, huh? You got voted off the island. Just the three of us. Better that way." He smiled.

Ed was in on it – at least originally. But he didn't know this was happening. It was clear from the shock and anger on his face. Rick wondered if it was because they were threatening his daughter or leaving him behind. _Three of us_. Merle, Roy, and Daryl, then. Where _was_ Daryl?

"Now, here's how it's gonna go," Merle announced, glancing back at Roy again. "We're takin' her with us. If all goes well, we'll drop her at the end of the road and be on our merry way. Nobody gets hurt. If anybody follows us… well, somebody gets hurt."

Rick was forced to stand there, helpless, as Merle held them at gunpoint, and Roy got into the truck with Sophia in his lap. He kept that knife again her neck. The terror on her face was agonizing.

Taillights disappeared down the road.


End file.
